The Living Legend
by ograndebatata
Summary: A certain island west of Sumatra has managed to remain undiscovered for many years. But what will happen now that the secret of its existence has been revealed? Will the island and its legendary king survive contact with the civilized world?
1. Chapter 1: A producer's problems

_Hello, everyone. It's me, Ograndebatata. Does anyone still remember me? After some time of absence, I have started writing another fanfic. This time, however, it is not a Lion King fanfic, but a King Kong fanfic. Well, sorry to all of you who are waiting eagerly for the sequel to Shadows of the Past - if there happens to be someone waiting for a sequel to that story - but I'm sorry, I'm not exactly in the mood to write that kind of fanfic, and unfortunately, writers doing forced work may end up working badly, and that's something I don't want._

_Anyway, I've decided to try out my hand at a King Kong fanfic. Before you go on further, I'd like to warn you about one thing. This fanfic is quite unusual, in the way that it is my own remake of King Kong. I know, Peter Jackson already did a fabulous work at remaking King Kong, he gained a lot of money, and it's almost certain that nobody's gonna be able to do better. But anyway... I guess that, as perfect as Peter Jackson's King Kong was, there are always things that we'd enjoy more if we portrayed them differently. And so, I give you my remake of King Kong. Yes, I have quite a tendency for remakes, like probably anyone who might have read Shadows of the Past judges... but I promise, this one is going to be more different of King Kong than Shadows of the Past is from The Lion King._

_Well, now giving credit where credit is due, I do not own, I never owned, and I almost certainly will never own King Kong or any other of it's amazing characters. Most of the characters present so far in the fanfic are, created by Merian C. Cooper, Edgar Wallace, and Ernest B. Schoedsack, or, coming to those present only in the 2005 remake, by Peter Jackson, Fran Walsh, and Philippa Boyens. So far, only Arthur Denham, Edith Denham, Harold, Margaret, and Alexandra May belong to me. I'm not trying to make any money out of this, and I admit, I don't have any permission to use them, but I am simply writing for my own amusement. And maybe also to yours, but..._

_Having said that, I'm not Merian C. Cooper - the man who started it all - and I'm also not Peter Jackson - the man who made what was already good even better. I'm simply a fanfic writer, hopefully an acceptable one, but I'll let you be my judges on that._

_Anyway, to have a general idea of this fanfic, it is very advisable for you to have seen the original 1933 King Kong, and the 2005 remake by Peter Jackson. It is also advisable, but not necessary, to have read the 1996 draft for Peter Jackson's version, as this fanfic features some elements of it. You don't lose anything if you haven't seen the 1976 version. I haven't, and from the little I know, that one is not very good at all. _

_Well, just to end this, just some initial thank yous. _

_To Merian C. Cooper, for having created the masterpiece that King Kong is. _

_To Peter Jackson, who improved the original, at least in my opinion._

_To the fanfic author TakaPL, thanks to who I started writing fanfics._

_Also to the fanfic author RebeccaAnn, for all of her support, for her helpful advises, and her equally helpful indications._

_And also to the fanfic authors marinawings, Pup of Power, and wolfangel26, for all of their support._

_I know, this is a very long piece of credits, but I just had to say it. I think it is only fair if I give credit where credit is due. Anyway, now that this is over, let's begin._

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**Chapter 1 – A producer's problems**

_New York, September 25th, 1933_

Life was hard in New York City. In the four years since the economic crisis had begun, things had gone from bad to worse. The once beautiful parks and streets of the city were flooded with the refuse of the thousands of people living in cardboard boxes and makeshift dwellings. As winter approached, many were forced to rely on steaming vents to keeps from freezing. The lucky ones found hot food at soup kitchens. Those not so lucky had to dig for their food in trash cans. Not everyone, however, found themselves in such dire circumstances. Those fortunate enough to have jobs and plenty to eat were always hurrying through the crowded streets hoping as they did so, they would not see the disaster all around them.

Film director Carl Denham was facing what he hoped would not become a disaster . He was sitting inside a screening room showing the footage of his next film to the board of investors of who were financing his next film: Zelman and Associates. Carl had spent the last two months filming, and he honestly hoped that the result of his hard work would be good. More than anything, he wanted this film to be successful. Carl's heart was beating so loudly that he was sure the producers would hear it. If they hadn't died of boredom, that is.

Carl's nervous gaze darted from one producer to the other. Poehler seemed more interested in the cigarette he was smoking than the film he was watching. Zelman was busy scratching what must be one persistent itch, and Farragher was yawning-actually _yawning. _Carl was getting the idea that this film was going down the same path as his others had. He could not let that happen.

His hands slowly curled into fists. He could not, would not see the effort he had made over the previous two months go to waste. And it would not. Carl had an emergency plan, and it looked more and more likely that he would need it.

After what seemed like hours of flickering silence, Zelman stood. "How much is missing?"

"Five reels." replied an assistant.

"Lights on." Said Zelman.

The movie cut off and the lights came up. Poehler woke with a start and rubbed his dark moustache as he sat up straighter in his chair. Farragher leaned forward in his chair and jabbed a rigid finger toward Carl.

"This is what we get for our forty-thousand dollars? Another one of your 'safari' pictures? How many will you make before you get it, Denham?"

"Some people never learn…" the assistant muttered under his breath.

"You said that there would be romance scenes with Bruce Baxter and Alexandra May." accused Poehler.

One of the main reasons Zelman and Associates had agreed to finance the movie in the first place was because Denham had promised the critically acclaimed film couple of Bruce Baxter and Alexandra May. The pair was nowhere to be seen. Everything so far was just a bunch of animal footage.

"I know I did. Alexandra said she had some problems. Don't ask me what, she wasn't clear. But she only finished with those compromises a few days ago." Carl said.

"This is not a matter of principle. It's a matter of money." Farragher replied.

Barely holding in his anger, Zelman broke in. "Carl! You have been in production for over two months!"

Carl extended his hands in a placating gesture. "Trust me, Bruce and Alexandra will steam up the screen when we start filming on the ship."

As soon as Denham ended his sentence, he knew he had said the magic words. Every pair of eyes was focused on him. He finally had their attention. They were ready to listen, and he was more than ready to explain. Carl walked to the front of the screening room eager to reveal his latest secret. Carl had found the perfect place to shoot his film. His film, the one he had always wanted to make. He would have to begin all over, but Carl was sure it would pay off in the end.

Zelman looked suspicious. "What ship?"

"Simple." replied Carl. He turned around to face the other men. "The ship will be taking us to the new filming location."

"You're not supposed to be going to any filming location. You're supposed to shoot on the back lot!" Zelman said.

"That was on the previous script. But gentlemen," Carl paused for effect, "the script has been rewritten. Life intervened… I have discovered the perfect location to shoot the perfect film."

Carl pulled a piece of paper, turned yellow by time, from his shirt pocket.

"I've come into possession of a map. The only existing record of an uncharted island. A place thought to exist only in myth… until now.

Zelman lifted up his hands. "Whoa, Carl, slow down…"

"Is he asking for more money?" Poehler interjected.

"He's asking us to finance a stupidity." said Farragher.

Carl grunted. He could see that his words were not having the impact that he hoped for. He couldn't understand why. Carl could, afterall, recall perfectly the excitement he had felt the night when he had heard the story from that Norwegian captain. When he first heard the name of the place, he had felt a cold shiver run up his spine… and yet, he was sure that his film was meant to be made there.

Skull Island.

He remembered a day during the production of his last film when he had gone to the docks to have a drink at the local bar. That day, he had met a Norwegian skipper of a barque. The Norwegian had told Carl a story about a castaway that the captain and his crew had picked up out of the water seven years before. The castaway had claimed to have been on an island that had the remains of an ancient extinct civilization. An island that was also filled with creatures beyond human imagination.

The castaway had unfortunately died soon after he told his story, but the information that he given was enough for the Norwegian captain to get a good idea of the island's location. The captain had made a map, and after quite a bit of haggling and $150 dollars, that map was now in Carl's hands. He didn't care about the money. He was certain he would recover his investment a thousand times over if only he could get to that island and make _his_ film.

Zelman was interested, but times were tough. Money didn't grow on trees. He looked over at his two associates. Farragher looked angry; Poehler looked as if he thought the whole idea the stupidest thing he had ever heard.

"Rubbish." said Poehler. Then his expression seemed to brighten. "Unless there are boobies…"

"Huh?" said Carl. He was completely unable to understand the reaction of the movie producers. Hadn't he told them almost the exact same story the Norwegian captain had? The captain's words had been enough to peak _Carl's _interest.

"Haven't you learned that people only go to that kind of film if there are some nice hot naked native women?" said Poehler. "So, unless the film you'll be shooting has something like that…"

Carl had reached his limit of what he could take from these ignoramouses.

"What are you, idiots? Was DeMille asked if he'd waste time on shooting nude native girls? No, he was respected! He showed class, or at least education! Maybe you should buy a dictionary to know what that word means, ya lowlife!"

Carl breathed heavily and clenched his fists. He knew that the possibility of them killing his film outright had just skyrocketed, but much to his surprise, the producers looked as if they were actually considering what Carl had told them. Finally, Zelman stood up and gestured toward the closed door.

"Carl, please go outside for a moment."

Carl nodded curtly. He turned and left the room without any argument. He knew they were about to make their final decision, and he wanted to leave them to it. But it didn't really matter what they decided, now did it? He would not let _anyone_ kill this film. _His_ film. Carl knew he was willing to make it. At any price.

* * *

As Carl walked out of the screening room, he saw his assistant, Preston, perched on the edge of the dingy brown sofa in the foyer. Carl's eyes slid past Preston to the glass of water on a table that was next to the sofa.

"Give me that." said Carl. He pointed to the glass of water.

"It's just water, Mr. Denham, you won't like it." said Preston.

Preston stood up, retrieved the glass of water, and then handed it to Carl. Carl grabbed it and immediately dumped the contents into a nearby plant.

"I didn't say I wanted to drink it." said Carl.

He shook out the last drops of water, and then placed the glass against the door. He leaned in, pressing his ear against the glass. It was a trick that he had learned as a kid from his big brother, Harold. It was a good way of listening to what was happening to the other side of a door.

And Carl didn't like what he heard. Not at all.

* * *

Carl could tell by the first thing out of Farragher's mouth what the final decision would be. He was tired of critics. The world was full of them. Carl knew his film would be great, and just because they were too stupid to see that, well, to hell with them. He grabbed his hat and coat, and with a plan already forming in his mind, he whisked out of the front door with a confused Preston trailing behind.

The sights and sounds of the busy New York street washed over Carl. He made a bee-line for the street.

"Taxi!" Carl shouted.

Moments later, a beat up yellow Franklin taxi screeched to halt at the curb.

"Mr. Denham…"

"Shut up and get into the damn taxi." Ordered Carl. He yanked open the car door and pulled Preston in after him.

The taxi lurched to a start and pulled out into traffic. Carl knew exactly what was going to happen when Zelman and Associates figured out that he had given them the slip. Carl knew he had a small window time to get himself and his film crew on to the ship.

"Preston, tell the cast and crew to get on that ship. They have one hour."

"But Mr. Denham, what about visas, foreign currency…"

Carl made a sharp cutting motion with his hand. "No time for that. Tell them that the studio pressed us to an early departue, and if they want to be in this film, then they had better be on that ship in an hour! And call Jack! Tell him I need that damned screenplay!"

The taxi stopped with a lurch. Carl banged open the door and got out. He turned to Preston, ignoring to look of bewilderment on his face.

"Defeat is always momentary!"

Carl slammed the door and slapped the top of the taxi. It quickly pulled back out into traffic, leaving Carl standing out in front of a brownstone apartment building. He had one last thing to do before he could leave.

"_Go in, get your suitcase, and then get the hell out of there._" Carl lectured himself. Carl glanced at his wristwatch as he pulled open the door. He did not have time for anything more. No drama and no arguments. If luck he was lucky, _he_ wouldn't be there at all.

Carl decided to take the stairs. It would give him time to marshal his spiralling thoughts. He was dancing on Occam's Razor. Carl needed to be precise; there was no time for wasted thought or action. He believed fully in the success of his film. He knew in his bones that if he could only get it made, that it would great. More than great, the greatest film ever made. And then finally, he would get the recognition that he deserved, and so desperately needed.

But, as Carl finally arrived to the apartment and turned the key on the lock, he realized that fortune was not on his side. The voice he least wanted to hear called out:

"Who is it?"

Carl didn't waste precious time in answering. He entered the apartment and pushed the door closed, without looking at the one who had spoken.

"Oh, it's you…" Carl heard his father, Arthur Denham, say from the living room as he passed through it.

Carl refused to let his father steal any precious time away from him. The only stop that he made was one to give his mother Edith a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"You could at least have the decency to answer when you're addressed." said Arthur Denham. He got up from the sofa and threw the newspaper into it.

"I'm in a hurry." said Carl. He threw the door to his closet open and took out clothes randomly and put them on an open suitcase. The only set of clothes that had been purposefully chosen for the voyage was what he called his "lucky suit" that he always took when he produced some picture on tropical climates – like Skull Island should be, given it's location and the description made by the Norwegian captain.

Edith entered her son's room. "Carl, what did Mr. Zelman and his associates say?"

"Nothing good, most likely." muttered Arthur. He took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it.

Carl stopped his frenzied packing of clothes, narrowing his dark-brown eyes. He emitted a sound simmilar to the growl of an angry lion. For Edith, that was enough to serve as a confirmation of Arthur's words.

"Don't worry, Carl." said Edith. "I'm sure that…"

"As for me, I'm sure that you should give up that idea of trying to make films." interrupted Arthur.

Carl stopped in the middle of placing a dark-blue vest in the suitcase.

"What I do is create art." said Carl. "If you aren't clever enough to understand that, then maybe you should take an art course."

"You're supposed to work for a living!" insisted Arthur. "That's what a real man does! I've spent forty years running a store…"

"And so what if I don't wanna follow your example and spend the rest of my life on that shop of yours?" asked Carl. "I want more than to just sell apples and cigarettes for a living!"

"You're just taking money that men like Mr. Zelman work hard for!" said Arthur. "And what you do with it?"

"I create art!" said Carl, throwing the vest to the suitcase with a rough gesture.

"You've already said that." said Arthur. "But if you made proper art, people would enjoy it, instead of falling asleep as they watched it. Look at Harold and Margaret. They manage to have stable lives. They are married and have children. You only dedicate yourself to your movies, and they are not even worth while! You don't even have decency to live in your own house."

"Stop that!" said Edith. "If Carl likes doing his films, that's the important part."

"No." said Arthur, pointing rigidly to his youngest son. "The important part is what he makes out of it. We never taught our son to spend money that others gained in something that nobody appreciates."

Carl grabbed the suitcase in his left hand, and walked to his mother. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and a quick hug with his free arm.

"Goodbye, mom." said Carl.

"Goodbye, Carl." said Edith. She gave her son a tight hug.

Carl broke out of it abruptly, and walked to the door without turning back to look at his father.

Clenched fists on his hips, Arthur took a step towards his son. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to make the greatest picture in the world." said Carl, opening the door, and turning to his father. "It will be something that nobody's ever seen or heard of. It will be greatest thing you'll ever _not see._"

He walked out.

* * *

_Well, what did you think? I know, for the beginning, it isn't very different from Peter Jackson's version, other than the ending part with Carl and his parents. But believe me, there are going to be more differences as time passes. Have one thing in attention. I don't care at all with constructive criticism, but please, don't come with insults. Now, please, review!_


	2. Chapter 2: A hurried departure

_Hello again. Here it is a new chapter. Well, to begin with, thanks a lot to all those who reviewed the last chapter. People seem to have responded to the idea fairly better than I initially thought. Now there is one new chapter, introducing Ann, but I warn you, this Ann differs much more from Peter Jackson's remake than Carl Denham. This Ann is a mix of the 1996 version of the character and my own original ideas. I hope she is still likeable, anyway. Well, in this chapter, the only characters copyrighted to me are Leonard Darrow, Valdemar Martins, and Thomas Davison (aka Mr. Dollar). Now that this is over, let's begin._

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**Chapter 2 - A hurried departure**

Ann Darrow sat on her sofa reading a play, like she usually did in the afternoons. The particular play that she was reading at the moment was _Isolation_, the most recent work of Jack Driscoll – and one of his best efforts so far, she thought. Brushing a strand of her curly blonde hair behind her ear, she turned her blue eyes from the page to out of the window of her small apartment. It would be magnificent if she could actually be on stage, performing for her and others' enjoyment. It had been her biggest childhood dream.

But unfortunately, Ann recalled as she looked pack at the page, life had a way of waking her up to reality. And too often, she thought, it was to a somewhat undesirable one.

Closing her copy of _Isolation_, but keeping the page where she was marked with one of her fingers, she looked at the author's name on the cover. Her mind travelled back to the day when she had first met him. At that time, both of them were ten years old. It had barely been a week since she had arrived with her parents from England. Life there had become too hard for them. After the failure of her father's business, Joseph Darrow suggested that maybe he'd be able to build a new life for them on America, and so they moved on.

But while their life improved financially, some of the Darrow's new neighbors didn't seem interested in welcoming Ann or her parents. Ann still had her first days on America very clear in her mind. Even now, twenty two years after she had first set foot on the New World, she still saw Florence Birkin sticking her tongue out at Ann whenever she passed in front of her house. Even after so many years, her cheeks still heated when she thought of all the names she and her family were called. But not everyone had been so rude. Most of them were polite, and some even were kind. Jack Driscoll and his family had probably been the first to belong to the group of the kind ones.

A small smile came to her lips as the memories of the six years that she had spent with Jack Driscoll during their childhood days came to her mind. He had been her best friend. She had even allowed herself to dream that, when they became adults, she'd marry him.

Unfortunately, when she was sixteen years old, her life took a different direction. Her parents died in a fire and she passed to the care of her father's brother, Leonard. Because her uncle was an archaeologist whose work involved incessant travelling, she had to go with him. That caused her friendship with Jack to fall apart.

During one of her return trips to New York, she went to see a play titled _Problems_. She had enjoyed it a lot, and eventually discovered that the Jack Driscoll that she had known was the playwright. Since then, she had bought a copy of each of his plays – among those being _Redemption, Chaos_ (she thought the title fit it absolutely when she had read it) _Despair _(she still cried whenever she read that one), _Thrill_ (it was probably her favourite), _Problems _(another with a perfectly fitting title), _Break _(one of the few with a happy ending), and now his latest work, _Isolation._

Ann turned her head to look out of the window again. There was only one thing she could think of that would be more thrilling than being on stage and that was actually meeting Jack again. That was what she dreamed of now. But life always woke her up. Ann felt a stab of apprehension and fear as the thought entered her mind. It was better if she just stopped dreaming. She opened the play back to the page where she had stopped and then continued to read.

But the sound that came from the apartment's door took Ann's attention off the play again. Having a good idea of who was about to enter, she placed a marker on the page where she had stopped, and got up to greet the one about to come in.

The door opened, and her uncle Leonard entered. He placed his overcoat on a hanger before turning to his niece.

"There you are, my dear. My, you're quite a sight for tired eyes." said Leonard. He hugged Ann and gave her a short kiss on the cheek.

"Welcome home, Uncle." Ann returned the hug and smiled.

Leonard strode to the sofa and sat down.

"Not there, Uncle…" Ann extended her arm to stop him, but it was too late. Leonard sat squarely on top of her copy of _Isolation_.

Realizing his mistake when he felt the play underneath him, Leonard moved aside and grabbed the play. His eyebrows rose when he read the words on the cover.

Leonard grinned. "Reading Jack Driscoll's works again, my dear?"

Rather than answering, Ann just walked to her uncle, snatched the play out of his hand, and placed it upside-down on a small table that was at the side of the sofa. She sat down next to her uncle, not daring to look in his eyes.

Leonard removed his worn grey fedora and ran his fingers through his thick white hair. He slowly shook his head. "How many more plays will there be before you try to meet your beloved writer in person?"

"Probably a lot." said Ann.

"Why are you so scared about meeting him? It surely can't hurt a lot."

"Oh yes, it can." said Ann. "To begin with, the last time I saw him was in _1917. _I was sixteen years old, and he was eighteen. He may not remember me at all."

"He also _may_ remember you perfectly." said Leonard. "Being the close friends that you were, I think that he would almost certainly remember you. He may not remember you as well as you remember him, but I'm sure he would still recall you, even if just a little."

The second when he finished the sentence, Leonard felt that he had said too much, and the slightly painful expression on his niece's face showed it. What he should be doing was trying to reassure her that everything would work out fine between her and Jack. Speaking honestly, Leonard didn't understand what Ann managed to see in that writer, other than his social status and wealth. Of course, Leonard had only met Jack personally once, on one of his visits to his family in a return from one archaeological expedition. A memory of a single meeting from twenty years ago wasn't enough for a solid opinion, and Leonard was aware of it. Nevertheless, he thought that it didn't do any good for his niece to keep dreaming about Jack Driscoll when she had quite a few men who would love to marry her. But the main thing that he wondered about was why Ann always stayed on the fantasies, instead of trying to meet him.

"You'll only have solved this matter once you meet him personally." said Leonard.

Ann turned to her uncle. She also knew that the matter would only be solved when she met Jack Driscoll. But she feared that, after all of her hopes and illusions, life would wake her up to reality again. At least in the dream, she didn't risk suffering more.

"Maybe I will talk to him," Ann said in an absent-minded way, "once we return from your next archaeological expedition, of course."

"That reminds me," Leonard said, "I have finally procured a ship to take us to our destination."

Ann was relieved to have the conversation turn away from Jack Driscoll. "That's wonderful. Do we have everything we need?"

"Yes. Mr. Dollar has taken care of everything."

"I don't trust him. There is something disturbing about his eyes. They remind me of a snake." Ann said. "He seems to think that money can buy everything."

"I agree with you, dear girl, but I don't think that we would be lucky enough to get another willing to finance what may amount to a wild goose chase."

"But don't you think it is strange that he was so eager to finance the expedition?"

"In times like these, what choice do we have? Remember, most people do not believe that the island even exists. I dare say, we are lucky indeed."

Ann knew far too well what her uncle was talking about. On his last archaeological expedition they had made an amazing discovery, one that would shake the whole world if it turned out to be real.

Three months ago Ann, Leonard, and a whole archaeological team had been in British East Africa, studying the remains of a small long-abandoned African village that was thought to have been built about a thousand years ago. They had been fortunate to uncover many artifacts, but more than that, they had discovered something much unexpected.

During the excavation, they uncovered a rusty, pockmarked Christian crucifix, which seemed to have been there only for the last four hundred years. Of course, the first question in their minds was: Why was a Christian symbol buried in an African village? The answer came when they uncovered, along with the crucifix, a large trunk made of very thick wood; it mysteriously undamaged by time. After carefully forcing the iron straps of the trunk open, the archaeologists made some incredible discoveries. One of them was a stone-carved figurine of an ape, and the other was a book with a map inside it.

The book was a travel diary written by Valdemar Martins, a Portuguese sea captain from the 16th century. In the book, Valdemar told the story of an island in the middle of the Indian Ocean on which resided the remains of an ancient civilization and an island full of terrible creatures.

According to the diary, the creatures living on that island were so terrible that most of the crew had been killed. Only Valdemar had managed to get off the island alive. He died several months later, shortly after arriving to the African village, but not before writing his whole adventure down. He stored his diary, the stone, and a map of the island his trunk. The name Valdemar had given the island was disturbing.

He had first referred to it in his own mind as _Ilha do Diabo_-Devil's Island. But Valdemar soon discovered that the people of Melinde – a port city where he had been before going to the abandoned African village – knew of the island. They had their own name for it. _Ilha da Caveira-_Island of the Skull. Leonard and Ann had adopted the name "Skull Island" for short.

According to the description in the diary, there was a mountain range dividing the island in half. The middle part of that range, when seen from the western side, looked like a human skull.

"_Havia uma cadeia montanhosa que dividia a ilha ao meio. A parte central da cadeia montanhosa, vista do lado ocidental, parece uma caveira humana."_

There was also one isolated mountain peak, whose top, even seen from some kilometres away, looked like a skull. According to a quote from the diary, that skull looked exactly like a giant statue of the head of one of the creatures that lived on that hellish island.

"_Mesmo a alguns quilómetros, o topo da montanha isolada parece uma estátua da cabeça dos monstros gigantes e peludos que vivem nesta ilha infernal."_

Both Ann and Leonard were apprehensive about the possibility of finding the dangerous creatures described in the diary, but for Leonard, studying a civilization like that would be a dream come true. As for Ann, well, she followed her uncle everywhere. He was the only family she had and she couldn't abandon him. Not to say that Ann hadn't devoted hours trying to talk her uncle out of going to Skull Island, but in the end, he remained unconvinced. Leonard's desire to prove the diary true was not to be denied. And so, they were to go, as prepared as possible for the unknown dangers of the island.

Ann still had one question.

"How has Mr. Dollar convinced the captain and crew of the ship to take us to that island?" asked Ann.

"Again, my dear, we have been most fortunate. Because of Mr. Dollar's great impatience, he was only able to procure a vessel that was already headed to Singapore."

"What type of vessel? Who's the captain?" Ann changed the theme for a moment.

"It's a tramp steamer, the _Venture._ And it's captained by Captain Englehorn." said Leonard.

"But Singapore is not Skull Island." Ann returned to the previous topic. Then a look of concern flashed over her face. "Oh, no! The captain does not know where Mr. Dollar intends to direct the ship, does he?"

"You know Dollar, he has a silver tongue..."

"You mean he is a liar."

"Regardless, Dollar told me he had convinced Captain Englehorn to go to the island after the business in Singapore is completed."

"What business is that? I'm almost afraid to ask!"

"A movie producer named Carl Denham is making a moving picture in Singapore." Leonard replied.

"I've heard his name before. He makes pictures about wild animals, doesn't he?"

"I believe so, but he hasn't had much success, has he? His pictures always seem to be about the same thing, and much too long for my taste."

Ann laughed. "You're right, uncle. We went to see one of his movies and you fell asleep before it was even halfway through!"

"Now that you mention it, I do remember. Bloody sea lions!" Leonard chuckled. "Oh well, we should really get along and get packing. The Venture sets sail tomorrow."

"I still don't like how Mr. Dollar has dealt with this Captain Englehorn. How will he react when he discovers that Dollar has lied to him?"

"I don't know, Ann. But I have to trust that the good Captain Englehorn knows what he is doing."

"Trust? I am willing to give this captain a chance, but Dollar? I cannot trust him. Don't you think it is suspect that Dollar is willing to pay so much for an expedition that only includes you and I?"

"Truthfully, I don't know why he jumped at my proposal so eagerly, but we'll simply keep an eye on him. He has paid for the ship, after all."

Ann knew her uncle, and despite both of their misgivings, she knew he would forge ahead with his plan. Still, Ann had an odd feeling about this journey to Skull Island. Of course maybe the island really did not exist after all, but in Ann's heart she did not believe that. The diary had been so very convincing. And there was the ape figurine as proof. Surely Valdemar wouldn't have gone to the trouble of carving a stone ape just to make his story more believable. But apes weren't really monsters, although gorillas had been described as monsters when they were first discovered. Maybe apes weren't the only 'monsters' on this Skull Island. Ann tried to look on the bright side. If the island did not exist, there would be no terrible dangers to face, and she would still have an interesting voyage. And even if the place did exist, her uncle would be beside himself with excitement.

Ann did not know which of the two options she preferred.

Leonard interrupted Ann's musings. "The _Venture_ sails tomorrow, so we should get packing." He said. "We should arrive some hours before the planned departure time, I think, so be ready by," Leonard glanced at his pocket watch, "6pm, shall we say?"

"I'll be ready." Ann replied.

* * *

_Well, just for the record, Melinde is a place that actually exists in Kenya, although nowadays it is known as Malindi. And British East Africa was the name given to Kenya until it became independent from the British. Anyway, what did you think? Review, please. I still need opinions._


	3. Chapter 3: Agitated docks

_Hello again. After some time of absence, here it is a new chapter for you. People still seem to be responding to this idea fairly better than I initially thought, but I wonder if all - or even one - of my readers will accept one particular point of my remake. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Now this is over, let's begin._

* * *

**Chapter 3 – Agitated docks**

As night fell, the cold autumn air descended on the docks of New York City. But nightfall did not bring peace and quiet, rather, the docks were ruled by agitation. Sailors hauled thick coils of rope, pushed cargo around on large trolleys, and shouted orders and curses to one another. Even more activity surrounded a large tramp steamer, the _Venture_. The almost sixty member crew crawled around the vessel like ants, rushing to and fro carrying out the many last minutes details that needed to be attended to before the ship could depart. A shabby yellow cab arrived, its wheels screeching slightly as it stopped.

Carl Denham exited the taxi and tossed the driver a couple of quarters. He hauled his suitcases out and slammed the cab's door. Carl surveyed the activity surrounding the ship he had hired to take himself and his crew to Skull Island. He noticed that the preparations seemed to going at a decent speed – as it should be, considering that the crew was more than three times bigger than the ship needed. Carl's anxious gaze swept over the entire area. Neither Zelman & Associates nor the police were in sight.

He still had time.

But he had to keep his cool. If Captain Englehorn realized that Carl's biggest fear was to be arrested before the departure there would be trouble. Carl didn't even want to think of that possibility. As a matter of fact, Englehorn didn't even know exactly where Carl intended to go. The only thing Carl had told the Captain was that the destination was an island way west of Sumatra. Englehorn wasn't thrilled, but it had been rather easy to convince him. From the information that Carl had, Englehorn was in dire need of money after the smashing failure that his last voyage had been. The Captain had thrown himself at Carl's proposition with the ferocity of a pack of starving wolves at a bison. Desperate men could be manipulated so much more easily.

Carl hoisted up his suitcases and made his way over to his own crew. There was Mike, the sound recordist, Herb, the cameraman, and Preston, Carl's assistant. They were all standing next to a pile of filming equipment.

Preston strode toward Carl. "Mr. Denham, boy, am I glad to see you."

"Everything in place, Preston?" Carl tried to sound confident.

"That's not the problem. I've just gotten word," Preston leaned in conspiratorially, "they're coming."

"The cops?"

Preston's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "How did you know that?"

"I'm no fool. If I was Zelman, I'd have called the cops on me."

"What do we…" began Preston.

Carl cut him off with an impatient gesture and then turned to Herb.

"You got everything you need, Herb? Tripod? Camera? Lenses? Plenty of film stock?"

"Sure thing, Mr. Denham." said Herb.

Carl turned to Mike. "How about all the sound recording equipment?"

"I can't think of anything we're missing."

"Good." said Carl. "Go ahead and get everything on board."

"Mr. Denham, what do we…"

"Shut up, Preston. Help Mike and Herb get the equipment on board."

"But what about…" began Preston. There was uneasiness in his eyes.

"Preston!" Carl cut Preston off again. "You're my assistant. You are supposed to _assist_ me, not interrupt and question everything I do. Now go and _assist _Bruce and Alexandra with their luggage." Carl pointed a stubby finger at a man and a woman who were standing next to a pile of luggage several yards away.

Without another word, Preston nodded and hurried off toward the two actors.

Meanwhile Carl scurried off towards a tall man supervising the loading of the ship.

"Englehorn, cast off!" shouted Carl. "Hoist up the mainsail, raise the anchor, do whatever the hell you have to, but let's get going."

"We cannot do that." said Englehorn.

Carl stopped. His eyes narrowed. "Why not?"

"To begin with, we still don't have the manifest." explained Englehorn. "We can't leave without it."

"I'll give you another $1000 to leave now."

"You haven't given me the _first_ $1000 yet." said Englehorn. "And anyway, our other passengers have not arrived yet."

"What other passengers?"

"Two archaeologists hired the Venture. They have business in the East, also."

Carl grunted. His opinion of archaeologists was not very good. It seemed to him that all they did was spend other people's money to go around and dig up other people's old junk. What was the use of that, really? But, he countered, maybe it wasn't such a bad deal having an archaeologist along. If there really were ruins of an ancient civilization on Skull Island, an archaeologist just may come in handy. Surely there would be publicity if such a discovery was made, and that would be _very_ good for his picture.

Carl stopped and gave a cursory glance around the docks. The cops still hadn't shown up. That was good. Right now, publicity was the last thing Carl's picture needed. Right now he needed to pay the captain the $2,000 he had promised so the man could get the ship underway.

The crunch of gravel announced the arrival of a vehicle. Carl turned around quickly, fearing the worse. He let out a huge sigh of relief. It was only a taxi.

The taxi stopped and two people got out. One of them was an elderly man with snow white hair, the other a pretty blonde woman. The driver jumped out of his door and walked to the rear of the vehicle. He extracted two large battered suitcases and plopped them down on the ground. The white-haired man paid the cabbie. The pretty blonde woman tightened the belt on her coat as she looked around at all of the activity going on around her.

* * *

As her uncle was paying the taxi driver, Ann took her first look at the ship that would be taking them to Skull Island. Its name, _Venture_, was painted on the side of the hull. Ann's eyes ran all across the ship's length. In spite of its somewhat rusty appearance, it seemed fit enough. Ann was surprised to see a seaplane chained to the aft deck. It sat close to a crane that most likely served to place it in and take it out of the water. It had to be of a fighting model, Ann thought, as its two seats were both armed with machine guns. Ann felt a knot of fear in her heart when she saw the guns. She was not fond at all of war planes. The only purpose they served was to kill people.

"That's taken care of." Leonard said as the taxi rumbled away. "It looks like we found the right ship, now let's go and find the captain and Mr. Dollar."

With a small grunt, Ann hoisted up her bag. For a moment, she regretted all of Jack's plays she had shoved into her suitcase. In the end, she had packed all of them because she just couldn't decide which ones to leave behind.

_I won't regret it when we are in the middle of the Atlantic with nothing else to do_, she reminded herself.

Ann searched the crowd of milling sailors for the captain. The sooner he was located, the sooner she could stow her bulging suitcase. She spied a sailor wearing a white cap. That must be him.

Ann stopped and gestured with her free hand. "I bet that's him." She said.

"You are probably correct, my dear." agreed Leonard. "Although I must say I have never seen a captain with such a long ponytail."

"I can't say I have ever seen hair like that on a sailor either, let alone a ship's captain." Ann replied.

Leonard shrugged. Ann echoed her uncle's gesture and then the both of them changed their course and headed for the long-haired captain.

"Excuse me…" Leonard began.

The captain turned around.

Both uncle and niece dropped their suitcases.

"Yes, can I help you?" The captain said in a high, clear, and definitely feminine voice.

"Say….the ship, is it a picture?" Leonard shook his head. "What I mean to say, is this the moving picture ship?" He gestured to the tramp steamer.

"If you mean has the _Venture_ been hired by a movie director, then the answer to your question is yes." confirmed the woman.

Leonard winced. Ann was taken aback. What kind of ship was captained by a woman? The more important question was, what kind of a woman was the captain of a ship? This was a very strange turn of events, indeed. The woman captain looked at both Ann and her uncle expectantly. Ann could see her uncle was speechless. His mouth hung open slightly. Ann felt speechless, too, but she knew they couldn't keep standing there gawking rudely. Finally, she managed make her mouth work.

"And who are you exactly?" Ann blurted out.

The woman extended her hand. "Kendra Englehorn." said the woman.

Neither Leonard nor Ann shook her hand. They simply looked at it as if it was something smelly and mildly unpleasant.

"Is there a problem?" Kendra retracted her extended hand slowly.

"Are you the captain?" The words tumbled out of Leonard before he could school his tone.

A look of understanding passed across the woman's face. She laughed a little bit, showing a row of neat white teeth.

"No, I'm not." Kendra said when she stopped laughing. "The one you're looking for is my husband, Eric."

"Your husband is the captain, well, of course he is!" Ann managed.

Kendra turned toward the ship and made a quick signal for some of the sailors to load the net with crates. She turned again to Ann and her uncle.

"And who are you?" she returned Ann's words.

Ann took a steadying breath. Now that the initial shock of finding a woman dressed as a sailor had passed, Ann felt a little better. Mrs. Englehorn seemed friendly and polite, and that was the most important thing for her. But not for her uncle, it seemed. Ann could tell that Kendra's appearance had shocked him much more. She knew that he would think that the woman's trousers, combat boots, trenchcoat, and stained captain cap were improper clothing for a woman. But it all made sense to Ann now. That clothing would be perfectly suited for a woman who worked or lived on a tramp steamer. Such attire would be more practical than skirts and dresses. Ann knew that from experience.

Ann finally shook Kendra's hand. "Ann Darrow."

Leonard finally managed to swallow his shock. "If you could, ma'am, take us to the captain. We must speak with him before we set sail."

"Sure, no problem." said Kendra. She motioned Leonard and Ann to follow her.

Picking up their suitcases again, Leonard and Ann followed Kendra. They approached a short well-dressed man who had his arms crossed in impatience and a taller man who Ann could see was really the captain. He was in his early forties, and was dressed in similar clothing to Kendra's.

_Matching outfits_, Ann mused to herself, _how romantic_!

He, too, wore the white cap of the captain. Ann noticed as soon as the captain's blue eyes found his wife, the sternness around his mouth softened a bit. As he began speaking, Ann quickly noted he was talking to his wife in German. To Ann's surprise, Kendra answered in kind. She did not speak German, but she recognized her and her uncle's names when Kendra spoke them.

"_**What's the matter?"**_

"_**Mr. Leonard Darrow and Miss Ann Darrow are here.**_" said Kendra. "_**And they want to speak to you.**_"

"_**Our other passengers?**_"

"_**It would appear so.**_"

"_**Would you finish up here?"**_

"_**Of course."**_

Kendra and the Captain exchanged small smiles before she walked off. Englehorn turned toward Ann and her uncle.

"What can I do for you?"

Leonard opened his overcoat and extracted a wad of bills from an inner pocket.

"I think payment for our passage is in order. I am sure you agree, Captain?"

Englehorn took the money, counted it, and then placed the bills into the pocket of his trenchcoat.

"Thank you. Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"I was wondering if Mr. Thomas Davison has arrived yet. He is our acquaintance, you see, and we would like to speak with him."

"He has not." The Captain replied.

Before her uncle could respond, the short, portly man nudged his way into the conversation.

"What would that fat cat be doing here?" asked the man.

"He is the gentleman who has financed our archaeological expedition." replied Leonard. Ann's uncle looked down his nose at the shorter man. "And who, may I ask, are you?"

"This is Mr. Carl Denham. He has hired the _Venture_ as well." The captain explained.

"Carl Denham?" inquired Leonard. "I saw one of your movies once. Three years ago, I believe."

"Did you?" asked Carl. "And what did you think of it?"

"Too long for my taste. I believe I fell asleep half way through. Isn't that right, Ann?" said Leonard.

"I guess you did, Uncle Leonard. But I don't suppose you need to tell Mr. Denham…"

"Why not? The movie was a grand bore, if I remember correctly. If the man is going to improve his film making, he needs to know where his shortcomings are." Leonard replied.

Carl shot Leonard a venomous look and then turned his back on the Darrows. "I hired you first, fair and square. What about my picture?"

"Mr. Denham, I still recall the outcomes of our two previous voyages." said Englehorn. "If you were my only customer, I wouldn't have much chance of making a profit, now would I? Besides, they are perfectly willing to wait until your picture is filmed."

"Speaking of voyages, now that these two _limeys_ are here why don't we get under way, for crying out loud?"

"Now see here, Mr. Denham, there is no need to be…" protested Leonard.

Carl interrupted with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Look, Englehorn, I will give you two thousand dollars to leave right now. Will you take a cheque?"

"Do I have a choice?" the Captain answered dryly.

Mumbling something that nobody understood, Carl scribbled something in the cheque and then smacked it against Englehorn's chest. The captain grabbed Carl's wrist in an iron grip, while the other held the cheque close to his face. It seemed he wanted to check everything out before accepting the paper.

After running his blue eyes across the paper, Englehorn released the movie producer. Picking his own suitcases, Carl strode towards the ship. Englehorn placed the cheque in a pocket of his trench coat. He looked at Leonard.

"Mr. Darrow. I need you to tell me where you and Mr. Dollar want me to take you. My navigator needs more than 'somewhere West of Sumatra'. Englehorn said.

"My good Captain, we are embarking on a rather _sensitive _expedition." Leonard began.

One of Captain Englehorn's eyebrows arched up. "Sensitive?"

"I believe that is a good way to describe it. What would you say, Ann, dear?"

Ann smiled nervously at the Captain. "We have discovered something quite remarkable. I guess we want to keep it to ourselves..."

The captain thrust his hands into the pockets of his trench coat. "I am very discreet, Ms. Darrow."

"I'm sure you are, but we would feel more comfortable keeping the exact location under wraps, so to speak, until we are close to arriving there-after Mr. Denham finishes filming, of course. We don't want to disturb him. I know the moving picture is very important to him."

Englehorn stroked his lean jaw with his thumb and forefinger. He looked thoughtful.

"Keep in mind, you may refuse once we disclose the location. And we won't even demand our money back." Leonard added.

"Well, that's good of you." Englehorn smiled wryly. "I wouldn't return it anyway."

Leonard smiled. "Good chap. I told you he was a good man, didn't I, Ann."

"You did." Ann felt relieved. If the captain had pressed them, she didn't know what her uncle would have done. Before any of them could speak again, the sound of tires crunching on the gravely dock announced the arrival of someone else. _Dollar, _Ann thought. _Oh no._

A sleek black limo had pulled up. The driver got out of the vehicle, and quickly made his way to the back door. He opened it with a small flourish. A tall, gaunt man emerged. He was impeccably dressed in a fine dark grey suit. As he straightened, the man brushed an invisible bit of lint off of his left shoulder and then smoothed back his well-groomed salt and pepper hair. His imperious gaze swept over the _Venture_. Something approaching a sneer twisted his mouth.

"Jeez, what a heap of rusty junk!" scoffed the man. His voice was loud enough for a good amount of sailors to hear.

Four huge men in black suits emerged from the limousine and came to stand to the side and behind the man in the dark grey suit. The man looked at the Captain and the Darrows. He spread his arms out wide in a gesture of welcome, as if the others were his guests. He walked forward, the four Herculean men ghosting behind like the shadows of four small mountains.

"Hiya, Leonard."

"Ah, Mr. Davison." Said Leonard. He extended his hand.

"C'mon Leonard, you know by now I like 'Mr. Dollar'. My father is Mr. Davison."

The two men shook hands. Immediately, Mr. Dollar turned toward Ann. He reached out and took her hand before she could react.

"Ms. Ann Darrow." He bent down and tried to kiss her hand.

Ann pulled back her hand as if she had been bitten by a snake.

Mr. Dollar smiled, showing altogether too many teeth. "See you haven't changed any."

Dollar turned toward Englehorn. "So, you sure this bucket of bolts is safe?"

The Captain stiffened. "I assure you, Mr. _Dollar_, that the Venture is completely seaworthy."

"If you say so."

The Captain tipped his hat and bowed slightly. "I have work to do." He said curtly. He turned on his heel and walked up the gangplank, his heel strikes managing to sound angry.

Ann and Leonard exchanged a nervous glance.

"My men will get our cargo on board." said Dollar. "You two better get on board so we can cast off. Sooner we get going, the sooner we can be rich and famous!"

"Yes of course. Ann, darling let's see if we can get our things on the ship and get settled in." Said Leonard.

Ann nodded and then reached down to hoist up her suitcase. _What a lot of places and things this old bag has seen_, Ann mused to herself. _And what would it see on this trip_ she wondered with just a little more anxiety than she would have liked.

"Ann, honey, I should be carrying your suitcase, but I am afraid I am not as young as I used to be."

Ann smiled at her uncle. "I am doing just fine. Maybe one day I will learn not to pack so much!"

"Oh dear!" exclaimed Leonard. "I haven't the faintest idea where we should be going."

No sooner had Leonard spoken, but a young blonde sailor in faded dungarees jogged down the gangplank and hurried over to the Darrows.

"Captain sent me to help you two to your cabins." He said enthusiastically. "I'm Jimmy Dawson, but you can just call me Jimmy."

Ann smiled. "I am Ann Darrow, and this is my uncle, Leonard Darrow."

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Darrow." Jimmy wiped his hand on his trousers and then put his hand out.

Ann dropped her suitcase and shook the boy's hand. He looked nice enough, she thought. Jimmy turned quickly and took her uncle's proffered hand and pumped it up and down vigorously.

"Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Darrow."

"It's a pleasure, too, my boy." Leonard replied.

Throwing a sideways look at Dollar while Jimmy greeted her uncle, Ann caught a glance of him looking at Jimmy. She felt a shiver running up her spine when she saw his expression. He was looking at the boy like a falcon would look at a field mouse. Why would the man be looking at the kid like that?

"Maybe my niece will allow you to help her with that dreadfully heavy bag she is trying lug around."

"Can I carry that for you Ms. Darrow? Your uncle is right. It does look awfully heavy."

Ann smiled at the eager look on his face. How could she turn down such a cheerful offer? She would seem downright rude if she didn't accept, so she handed over her bag and indicated that he show them the way. Jimmy grabbed the suitcase and led them toward the _Venture_.

As Ann was about to step onto the gangplank, the strangest feeling swept over her. She felt as if she continued on, there would be no going back, that things would forever be different. The voice of her doubts whispered to her from the corners of her mind. _Go back_, they said, _forget the diary_….

But she knew if she voiced her fears out loud, Uncle Leonard would laugh at her for being such a goose. And of course he would be right. This is what they always did, and things always turned out just fine. _You _are_ being a silly goose, Ann Darrow,_ she chided herself.

* * *

_Well, this was it. I just hope that my readers manage to accept that I made Englehorn married. And no, I didn't make Englehorn married just for the hell of it, I have several purposes for Kendra that justify her presence in the story - only I can't reveal them immediately! The poor woman only had a chapter, give her some time to be useful! And about Englehorn's first name being Eric... well, I saw several EnglehornOC fanfics, and I saw Englehorn receiving the widest range of first names, among those being Abraham, Wilhelm, Josef, Thomas, Dustin... I can't even remember them all at the moment! But well, I ended up choosing Eric, partly because I heard a rumor that it was his official name. I don't know who said it, and I never got an official confirmation. But, on the first complete King Kong fanfic that I saw, Shadows of the Island, authored by marinawings - I highly recommend it to any of my readers who doesn't know it - his first name was Eric... and well, don't ask me why, but it sort of stuck on my mind. And, speaking of which, if you happen to read this, I thank you a lot, marinawings, for your support and your awesome King Kong fanfics._

_And just for the record, the parts in bold italics are supposed to be talking in German. I was initially going to use a German online translator to make the dialogue really in German, but I ended giving up that, because it would disturb a little bit the understanding of the story. And sorry for this chapter being quite a lot of novelisation of the movie... but it was necessary. Well, now that you've read this chapter, please, give a review!_


	4. Chapter 4: The caged writer

_Hello to you all, my dear readers. Well, after my last chapter, here it is a new one, and I finally introduce a character that probably some of you have been wanting to meet. Oh, and I forgot to mention at the beginning of my fanfic, this fanfic is going to be a crossover with several other series, movies, and things of the like. Among those things is the British comedy 'Allo 'Allo!, but I'll leave to you readers to find out which of the characters from that series is here! I don't know how many - or even if any - of you know 'Allo 'Allo!, but if you don't, you may see it, because it's good - or so I think. Now that is over, let's begin._

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* * *

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**Chapter 4 - The caged writer**

Carl made his way to his cabin, dragging his two bulging suitcases angrily behind him. He didn't feel the _Venture_'s engines working beneath his feet yet. Why the hell was Englehorn taking so long? Why couldn't the stinking German just get the ship moving? Didn't he realize that Carl was in a hurry? Didn't the man realize they were going toward the greatest discovery in modern history? No, of course he didn't, but that didn't make Carl any less annoyed. It seemed as if the man enjoyed annoying Carl.

The last two times he had hired Englehorn, the captain seemed to go out of his way to harass Carl. This time was no different, it would appear. The man was taking forever to get his vessel underway and the captain had accepted those two English snobs as passengers. Carl was sure they would spend the entire voyage complaining, getting in the way, and trying to take everything over. Maybe it was those two that were holding things up. If Carl ended up arrested because of those two English…

A wolfish snarl came out of Carl's mouth at the idea. He had more than half a mind to go back out there, grab the Captain by his collar, drag him to the ship, and make him leave. The mental image of him trying to do any physical coercion of Englehorn made Carl realize what an utterly ridiculous idea that was. He would have to wait, damn it. He had no choice.

Carl thought of the 'lemonade' he had instructed Preston to pack. A swig or two of Tennessee's finest would calm him right down. Heaven help Preston if he had forgotten. Carl pushed his way through the dining area and saw his cabin's door down a short passage and off to the left. He dropped his bags and turned the doorknob. It gave way easily and the door creaked open. He took two steps inside.

Someone else was already inside. Carl jumped. _It can't be the cops!_

But as soon as he caught a glimpse of the profile of the person inside of his cabin, he knew exactly who it was. No one else Carl knew had a shnoz like Jack Driscoll.

"Jesus, Jack, you scared me!"

Carl grabbed his two suitcases and flung them into the cabin.

"If someone comes in, you haven't seen me." said Carl.

He headed straight for the crate of 'lemonade' that was sitting on a table.

"Say I got depressed. Say I committed suicide. Say I stuck my head down the toilet. Say I was kidnapped by a flying elephant. Say whatever the hell you want. Just don't say that I'm here!"

Carl slipped one of the bottles out of the crate, yanked off the bottle top, grabbed a glass, and then poured himself a healthy measure of whiskey.

"You want some?" asked Carl.

The tall, dark-headed playwright had been watching the flurry of activity with a look of impatience on his aquiline face.

"I can't." said Jack.

He got up and put on his brown overcoat.

"I've got a rehearsal to get to for which I am now…" he glanced at his wristwatch, "…three hours late."

Jack produced a small sheaf of papers and thrust them at Carl.

"What's this?"

"The script." replied Jack.

Carl skimmed through the pages that Jack had given him. He counted them. Fifteen. _Fifteen_?

"This is a script? Jack, there are only fifteen pages here."

"They're good. You have fifteen good pages."

Carl's face screwed up with irritation.

"It is supposed to be a feature-length picture."

Jack put his hat on. "You said I'd have more time. Sorry, but I have to get to rehearsal."

Desperation welled up inside of Carl that had nothing to do with being chased by the police.

"You can't do this to me. Jack, this is the beginning, but I need a middle and an end. I've gotta have something to shoot."

Jack gestured toward the pages Carl was holding. "You've got my notes. Sorry, Carl, but I have to get going. See ya."

With that, Jack turned on his heel and headed toward the door.

Carl's brain lurched into high gear. There was no way he could let his scriptwriter just walk out the door. Without a script, Carl knew his picture was in trouble. It didn't matter how fantastic the shooting location was. He needed words. Bolting down the last of his drink, Carl noticed a number of sailors bustling around outside the small round window of his cabin. They were finally preparing to cast off. If Carl could just distract Jack for a few more minutes, well, he was sure Jack needed a vacation anyway.

"Alright." called Carl. "Let's settle our account."

Jack stopped, his hand frozen to the doorknob. He turned around slowly.

"You're going to pay up?"

"Yeah, sure."

Carl took out his check book and began to write, but then dramatically paused and glanced up at Jack.

"How does two grand sound?"

Jack's eyes brightened, but then immediately narrowed. "I've never know you to volunteer cash before."

"You've done me a huge favour here. I don't want to stiff a friend."

"Then I guess it sounds great." replied Jack. He smiled.

Carl handed Jack the check. He was silently begging for Jack to look at the thing.

The writer took the check with a smile, but his smile disappeared instantly when Jack noticed what Carl had actually written.

"You've made a mistake." said Jack. He jabbed a long finger at the check. "You've written 'two grand'."

Carl tried to keep himself from laughing out loud. "Sorry…" said Carl.

He ripped the useless cheque in half, and as he wrote a second one, he purposefully muttered out loud, _two…thousand…dollars_.

Carl grinned and handed over the second check. "It's the 29th, right?"

"It's the 25th!" replied Jack. "You know it."

Carl sighed exaggeratedly, and then ripped that check in two as well, but at that moment, the cabin's floor began to shake and shudder. The _Venture_ was leaving!

"Pay me when you get back!" shouted Jack.

He jumped down the stairs, ripped open the door, and then ran out into the passage.

Carl beamed. He poured himself another drink and then made a toast to thin air.

"To Jack Driscoll, the best screenwriter a director could ask for!"

* * *

Jack careened around the corner and bounced unceremoniously off the opposite wall. Finding Carl's cabin had seemed so easy at the time. Now that he knew he had precious few moments to get off the ship, he suddenly couldn't remember if it was a right at the coal chute or left at the engineer's quarters. The ship began to vibrate even more beneath his scurrying feet. It was going to leave. With him on it!

Jack tripped on a bucket and went sprawling on the floor. He jumped, and began running down the passageway. There was a lurch, and then the ship moved.

Jack panicked. He charged through a door. It slammed open and hit a sailor in the face. Jack didn't stop to apologize. The gangway was only several feet away. He rushed forward and then stopped short. The dock was slowly retreating. Jack glanced down at the dark roiling water the _Venture_ was kicking up. His eyes darted toward the dock again as he quickly calculated the distance. He surged forward, but then stopped himself.

Too far. Too late.

"God damn it!" shouted Jack. He slapped his grey fedora against the railing. He continued shouting abuse at the docks, the water, and anything else that happened to be listening.

But something he saw on the rapidly waning pier stopped the stream of curses flowing out of his mouth. The flashing blue and red lights of police cars lit up the dock. Several men swarmed out and began shouting and shaking their fists.

Jack heard footsteps to his left. He looked over his shoulder and saw Carl walking towards him, a confident smirk on his face and hands calmly in the pockets of his overcoat.

Alternating his focus between the angry men on the docks and the expression on Carl's triumphant and relaxed look, it wasn't that hard for the writer to put two and two together. Carl had gotten Jack into a mess, and it wasn't the first time.

Jack recalled the time he was at auditions for the lead in his play, _Break._ Among the candidates, there had been one girl who had quite a bit of potential, but she also had a problem: she got nervous too easily. That wasn't something Jack exactly wished in actresses, but he hadn't known how to say it to the woman without being offensive.

Carl, who happened to be at the audition and unfortunately in a flaming bad mood had called the woman pathetic, stupid, and useless. He cursed her up side and down the other causing the poor thing to burst into tears. At that point, the woman's overprotective boyfriend entered the fray. The man, in no uncertain terms, told Carl where to go and how to get there. Unfortunately for Jack, the two irate men came to arguing. Jack's producer had decided to call the cops just in case – but when they arrived, arguing had passed to brawling. Carl and the protective boyfriend came out with a black eye each, and they had almost ended up behind bars, but Jack had managed – with a lot of fast talking - to smooth the matter over. The worse was that it had been a large drop on his playwright popularity to know that brawling happened during his auditions – and his play, _Break_, was almost thrown in the trashcan.

Another time, about three years ago, was when Jack and some of his friends had a meeting. Carl was among those friends, and he was just a wreck. His latest movie about sea lions had not been as well received as Carl had wished. Carl had taken it very hard, saying that movie was his best, and had been made at the cost of his sweat and blood – although, he admitted it later, most of the blood at which cost the movie was made wasn't his. Jack and his other friends had tried to give him moral support, and Carl had suddenly produced a crate of prohibited drinks.

The bottles were attacked by every person in the apartment, except Jack. Everyone became roaring drunk, and eventually the apartment was ruled by absolute chaos. Unfortunately, the craziness had spread to the rest of building, and Jack had to calm down a bunch of neighbors who were very angry for the late noise. Carl made matters worse by aggressively trying to shoo the neighbors out of the apartment. Fortunately that as a writer he knew how to get messages across.

"I keep telling you, Jack, there isn't any money in theatre. You want the big bucks? Stick with film." Carl took out his pipe and knocked the dottle out of it.

Jack leaned against the railing and rubbed his temples. "I don't do it for the money, Carl. It just so happens that I love the theatre."

"No you don't." said Carl. He leaned slightly towards Jack and took his pipe out of his mouth. "If you really loved it, you would have jumped."

Jack didn't know what to say to that. He couldn't stand the thought that maybe Carl was right. Part of him had wanted to jump. He could have, after all. He knew perfectly well how to swim. But for some reason he was unable to do it. Why, he'd dearly love to know.

Clearly attempting to lighten the overall mood, Carl patted Jack's shoulder and asked, "Since you're here, how about you do me the favor of writing the rest of the script?"

Jack grumbled, before turning to Carl and saying with resignation in his voice: "It's not as if I have many options left."

With that, he walked off, trying to get used to the idea of spending undetermined time on the tramp steamer.

* * *

Kendra stopped for a moment on her way to the wheelhouse and watched New York City shrinking into the horizon. It was part of her life, watching every place her husband's ship stopped coming closer and closer and then going further and further away. Fortunately, there was one thing that always stayed close to her, no matter where she went; Eric.

Of course it had not always been that way. She had not always spent her life on a ship, and she had not always been married to a German captain. In fact, if her dear father had known that she had married the enemy, he would have probably flayed them both alive. But he was not around anymore. He had already been dead when she met Eric.

She watched the water again. The movements of the East River reminded Kendra a lot of her relationship with her father, Ronald Wright. Somewhat stormy at times, always in motion, but seldom perfectly peaceful. Their relationship was never one she wished for. If her mother hadn't died giving birth to her, things would be very different. But she had, and because of that, Kendra and her father had developed a certain distance in their relationship that could never quite be breached. She always thought she could see the slightest bit of accusation in his eyes. Not that Kendra didn't blame herself on occasion, but to see that blame mirrored in her own father's eyes was a difficult thing to accept.

Having spent a good part of her growing up years moving from port to port following her father, she felt cast adrift when her father had suddenly died. With no family to speak of, and no permanent home, she had nowhere else to turn but to the familiar sight and smells of the docks. She had gone down to the Wall Street Pier after her father's funeral to try and sort out what she was going to do next.

That was the first time she had ever seen Eric. When she first laid her tearful eyes on him, he was just a normal sailor, standing about 10 feet away, smoking a cigarette. In fact, the first thing coming to her mind when she saw him was that he, with his two day stubble and dirty clothes, definitely wouldn't have passed the inspections her father had conducted. But for a moment, he had looked at her, and his deep blue eyes had definitely made her throw the inspection factor to the waves so they'd drag it under. For a moment, she thought she'd seen a hint of interest, even worry. But Kendra had been too wrapped up in her grief to give the blue-eyed sailor another thought.

Kendra didn't know how long she had been lost in her own thoughts, but suddenly Eric was sitting on the same crate that she was. He had asked what was going on with her, and delivered a handkerchief for her to clean her tears. In spite its slightly dirty appearance, Kendra accepted it. The two started talking.

At first, she had been shocked to find out that he was German – with Kendra being daughter of a U.S. Naval Commander who had fought in the Great War, it was somewhat inevitable – but when she and Eric talked a bit more, they realized they had more in common than not. In the end, wanting to get away from it all, Kendra had asked for passage on his ship. In exchange, she agreed to work as one of the crew.

After several shared experiences on some of the voyages, their relationship grew deeper. It seemed that not even a World War could keep them apart, and after a year, they married. Nearly from the first moment she had stepped foot on the _Venture_, Kendra took to the seafaring lifestyle as strongly as a barnacle to a ship's hull. It was not a difficult decision to break standard procedure and accompany her husband everywhere as a full fledged member of the crew. The tramp steamer was the only place where life had something to give her, she realized, and she would not give it up.

Kendra pulled her mind back to the present as she entered the wheelhouse. She hoped Eric would have a decent explanation for the _Venture_'s sudden early departure.

"Eric." Kendra called out.

Englehorn looked up from the map he was perusing. The stern look on his face softened a bit. "Kendra."

"_**We need to talk.**_"

"_**Of course.**_" The captain crushed out the cigarette he was smoking and gestured for Kendra to lead the way out of the wheelhouse.

As the couple withdrew from wheelhouse, Kendra could feel anxiety clenching her stomach. She walked to the wheelhouse railing and grabbed on to it. Eric followed suit. Kendra knew he would wait until she was ready to speak. Several moments slipped past. She felt Eric's arm pressing against hers.

"_**We were supposed to have left tomorrow. Why the big hurry?**_"

"_**Denham paid us more to leave earlier.**_"

Kendra clenched her jaw.

Money.

Their last voyage had been disastrous. More than half of the animals had died en route, and a mutinous crewman had set a fire in the hold that had nearly destroyed the ship. It seemed nothing was as important as money these days.

"_**You know we may get in trouble for leaving without filing the updated manifest.**_"

"_**We need…**_"

"…_**money...**_" Kendra finished. She sighed. "_**It's always the money.**_"

Kendra felt Eric tense up beside her.

"_**We don't have a choice.**_" He nearly hissed. "_**If we lose the Venture, we lose everything. One misfiled manifest is worth the extra $1,000 Denham paid us.**_"

"_**Is he good for it?**_"

"_**He has been in the past.**_"

Kendra trusted Eric more than anyone else in the world, but even his judgment could be clouded, she supposed. They certainly were not the only ones who were in trouble. The whole world seemed to be caught in a financial panic. She looked out over the dark waves and hoped things would go their way this time. Kendra felt Eric move closer to her.

"_**You won't be mad at me for the whole trip like you were the time that we accidentally trapped that stink badger, will you?**_"

Kendra laughed out loud. What an absolute disaster that had been! It had happened during their second expedition together. They had been on the Philippine island of Palawan trapping cockatoos and parrots. When Eric had told Kendra to go and check the traps, she had discovered a very angry stink badger. The animal had let her know in absolute terms how it felt about falling into a parrot trap.

It had taken six weeks to get the reek completely out of her hair.

Still giggling softly, Kendra turned to face Eric. As soon as she looked into the icy blue eyes of her husband, she felt her annoyance and uneasiness slowly drain away. He kissed the tip of her nose, and her heart quickened. She blushed like a schoolgirl. Even after seven years of marriage, he could still do that to her.

"_**Is that all I get?**_"

He grinned wickedly. "_**Take it as a down payment.**_"

"_**How do I know you're good for the rest of it, Captain?**_" She teased.

Eric reached out and hooked his arm around his wife's waist and pulled her to him. "_**Oh, I'm good for it.**_" He murmured fiercely into her ear, as his free hand stroked Kendra's long, thick black ponytail.

"Uh, Skipper?" asked a voice.

The Englehorns abruptly separated.

"What is it, Choy?" Kendra tried to disguise her annoyance, but she failed. Such interruptions were frequent, but that didn't make them any less annoying.

"We have extra passenger." said Choy.

Englehorn grunted. "Who is it?"

"Jack Driscoll." said Choy. "Writer for Mistah Denham motion picture. He stay on ship because it leave too early."

Englehorn swore. "Just what we need. Where are we going to put him?"

"He can sleep in hold for now. Prenty room down there."

Englehorn nodded his approval. "Get him some blankets and get him situated down there."

"Yessir, Skipper."

Choy threw up a clumsy salute and turned to leave, but he stopped and smacked his palm to his forehead.

"Forgot. One more thing, Skipper."

"Yes Choy, what is it?"

"That Mistah Dollar. He want to talk to you."

"On your way to the hold, tell him he may talk to me up here. I'll be waiting for him." Englehorn said.

"Yessir, Skipper."

Choy left the wheelhouse. Englehorn turned to Kendra.

"_**What do you suppose Mr. Dollar wants this time?**_"

Kendra shrugged. "_**I don't know,**_" she said, "_**but what I do know is that it is horrible down in the hold. That poor Mr. Driscoll.**_"

"_**Do you have a better suggestion?**_"

Kendra shrugged. "_**I guess not. I should go and see that he is as comfortable as possible.**_"

"_**Sounds good.**_" replied Eric. "_**You're better than me at dealing with passengers.**_"

Eric's brow furrowed. "_**On second thought, I had better go do it.**_"

Kendra recognized the look on her husband's face. "_**Eric, how many times must we go through this?**_"

"_**Is it wrong for a man to want to protect his wife?**_"

"_**Of course not. But I think throwing a man overboard goes a little beyond protecting your wife.**_"

Eric affected a posture of mock indignation. "_**That happened two weeks after we were married. I haven't thrown anyone overboard since.**_"

Kendra found herself laughing again. "_**Don't worry. I can take care of myself.**_"

"_**I know you can.**_" said Eric. "_**You always do, but a man can't be too careful when he has such a beautiful wife.**_"

"_**He hasn't even seen me yet.**_" said Kendra. "_**For all you know, he prefers blondes.**_"

"_**You know what I prefer.**_"

Kendra grinned. The Captain would pay up in full, the first second she could get him alone.

* * *

As Kendra left the wheelhouse, Mr. Dollar arrived. He was followed by his four huge body guards.

"There we are, Captain." said Dollar.

"Right then, what do you want to speak with me about, Dollar?"

"I guess I just wanted to ask where will we sleep." said Dollar. "You see, none of your bloody crew told us yet."

Englehorn's face darkened. "I'll take care of that." He turned and grumbled something to a sailor standing next to Hayes. The young man nodded and scrambled out of the wheelhouse.

Englehorn turned to face Dollar again. ""I've sent Mr. Brainard to go and get Mr. Crabtree. He will escort you and your men to your cabins. I apologize for the delay."

The Captain reached into his pocket and extracted a cigarette. "Since you are here, I do have a question for you."

"What is it?"

"All those crates you and your men brought into the ship. I need to know the contents."

"Digging equipment." replied Dollar. "Shovels, pick axes, brushes, sifting pans and the like."

Englehorn lit his cigarette. "I get the point. What else?"

"Nothing that you're not used to."

"I don't like the sound of that, Dollar. This is my ship. I know what comes on and what comes off. Tell me what is in those crates – exactly, or I'll have one of my crew crack open each and every one of them."

Dollar lifted his arms in an appeasing gesture. "Calm down. We carry firearms as a precaution. An archaeological expedition ain't some easy walk in the park, you know. Pardon me if I want a little 'life insurance' with me."

"What kind of firearms?"

Dollar considered the captain. "A few rifles. I have a Colt 45. Mother of pearl handles. It's a beauty. Now, again, where will my men and I sleep?"

Englehorn fixed Dollar with an intense stare for a few more seconds. Dollar matched his gaze.

Another sailor appeared at the door of the wheelhouse.

"Sir?"

Without removing his ice blue eyes from Mr. Dollar, he said:

"Show these men to their cabins."

"Yes sir, captain."

"Hurry up, man. We're tired. Come on bud. March, do as you're told!" barked Dollar.

Crabtree looked at Englehorn, who nodded. Only after the sailor received confirmation from his captain did he turn to leave the wheelhouse. Dollar and his four Herculean men followed Mr. Crabtree.

Englehorn leaned his back against the wall. He didn't know why, but something about that man made him to feel slightly apprehensive. Maybe it would be better to keep an eye on the millionaire.

* * *

Kendra walked down the stairs that lead to the ship's hold. Since Kendra had joined the crew, she had seen animals of almost every type housed down there. Eric was a very good at what he did – live animal capture. He supplied zoos and private reserves all around the world. Because of his expertise, his customers were willing to pay top dollar – except, of course when something happened to the animals. Illness and accidents happened a lot, it seemed.

_The previous accident was nearly the last._ Kendra recalled grimly as she looked around the space that had nearly burned down not more than two months ago.

The first thing that she became aware of at entering the hold was the smell of animal detritus that ruled the place. But she ignored it. She had lived on the ship for eight years and was used to it, but she remembered almost fainting the first time she had smelled the hold. Jack Driscoll was probably close to fainting right about now.

"Skipper get any wild animal you want." Choy's voice reached her ears. "He'll do you real good price on white rhino."

As much as advertising their services could be good for business, advertisement had to be made to the right people and on the right measure. A New York City playwright was not the right person to be discussing white rhinos with, certainly. The poor man was probably already tired of Choy's incessant talking.

"Choy."

The mere sound of her voice was enough to silence the crewman.

Turning around, Kendra saw Jack Driscoll. He was a tall hooked-nosed man with black hair. He was holding a blanket, a pillow, an overcoat, and a felt fedora in his arms. He looked dreadfully out of place dressed as he was in a neat dark brown tweed suit. Definitely a bookish city boy to the core. She could tell he was already sick from the ship's rocking.

As soon as the playwright saw her, his eyes went wide and his mouth worked silently. It was only by a miracle that he managed not to drop everything in his arms.

Kendra folded her arms and cocked her head to one side.

"Surely you have seen a woman on a ship before, Mr. Driscoll."

"I don't spend a lot of time on ships, Captain." Jack Driscoll grimaced and leaned up against one of the cages.

"That's quite obvious."

Choy piped up. "This not Skipper. This Skipper's wife."

Jack looked at Kendra, then Choy, and then back to Kendra.

"You're not the Captain?"

Kendra smiled and shook her head.

Jack sat down on a crate still clutching his belongings. "I thought you were the captain." He muttered.

Kendra laughed. A ship captained by a woman! She was certainly the unofficial co-captain alongside her husband, but an official captaincy for a woman would be definitely too much, even for her.

Stifling her laughter, Kendra tried to be more welcoming.

"I'd like to apologize for the lack of cabins. You see, we have an unusual amount of passengers on this voyage. All the cabins are full."

Jack Driscoll rolled his eyes. "Of course they are. You should have hung a 'No Vacancy' sign on the hull. I would have stowed away on a different ship."

Kendra tried a different tact. "You should consider yourself lucky. No one else has this much room, not even the Captain."

"Oh yes, I feel very lucky indeed." Jack replied sarcastically.

"You should. There aren't any animals down here right now. Anyway, it is the best we can offer you at the moment. Take it or leave it."

Jack squinted up at her through the gloom and the smell. "If that's the best, I'd like to know what the worst is."

"What kind of person are you, Mr. Driscoll?" Kendra asked, a smile still playing on her lips. "We have enclosures of many kinds."

Turning to the door of the cage he was sitting next to, Jack said, "I guess that I'll take this one."

"We keep lions in there, Mr. Driscoll."

Mr. Driscoll did not seem like the lion type.

When Jack opened the door, she realized that his choice was wrong for more than one reason. A crate fell out of it and a bottle rolled toward her. She trapped it under her booted foot. Even before reading the label, she knew that was chloroform, the chemical they used to put most of their animals asleep. If one of the bottles broke, the liquid would wreak havoc on the ship. Now that Kendra thought of it, it was Choy's job to keep the chemical locked up.

"You were supposed to lock this up." She accused Choy.

"Sorry, Ma'am." said Choy. "Lumpy said…"

"Lumpy doesn't give the orders!" she cut him off in a harsh whisper. "You know how dangerous this is. I want you to get this locked up immediately."

Choy executed a clumsy bow. "Yes, Ma'am."

After making sure that the chemical was stowed in a safer place – the lockable closet attached to the wall that existed exactly for it – Kendra turned away and began her way out of the hold. Before she left, she called out to Jack Driscoll.

"Sleep well, Mr. Driscoll."

* * *

As she walked through the corridor towards the wheelhouse, Kendra saw one of the cabin doors swinging open in front of her. She didn't give it a second thought until she saw who was coming out of the cabin.

She recognized him instantly. It was Bruce Baxter, one of the film actors Carl Denham had hired. From what Kendra knew of the man, he was an arrogant, preening 'ladies man'. She had only seen one of his pictures, _Dame Tamer_, and that had been more than enough.

As she approached, the man actually rubbed his hands together and whispered:

"What have we got here?"

To her greater surprise, he stepped completely out of his cabin and stood in the middle of the passageway effectively cutting her off. He gave her an oily smile.

Kendra stopped and stared at the man. She kept her expression as indifferent as possible. One thing was obvious in her mind: the actor would learn that she wasn't like the women he had tamed. There was only one man in the world that could tame her, and his name was not Bruce Baxter.

"A good night to you." said Bruce. He leaned back in a somewhat casual way against the corridor's wall.

Hoping he would just get the message, Kendra replied icily, "Good night."

"And a lovely evening as well, don't ya think?"

"So it seems."

"As lovely as you are, Ma'am."

This time she just stared at him.

He responded by trying to take her by the forearm.

"Say, how about we…"

Kendra held up her left hand. She wiggled her ring finger under his nose. "I'm married."

"So?"

"To the Captain."

Baxter's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

Kendra pushed her way past the actor and stalked down the passage. She could still feel his brown eyes pinned on her. This would be another on the list of those that would have to be taught how to behave.

* * *

Captain Eric Englehorn leaned against the wheelhouse's wall taking deep drags of the cigarette held between his lips, reducing its size at an amazing speed. He was a little worried. Kendra was taking quite some time to return from the hold. He trusted his wife, but he knew she was beautiful. More than once a man on his ship had overstepped the bounds of propriety. Eric was not by nature a jealous man; he preferred to think of himself as protective. He knew Kendra could look after herself – oh, that he certainly knew – but the idea of some man trying something inappropriate still disturbed him.

Turning his head towards the now distant shore he recalled the first time they had met, eight years ago, on the New York docks. He had just unloaded a cargo of animals and was looking for ward to a few days rest and relaxation. One of those nights he had seen Kendra sitting down on a crate, her long black hair blowing in the breeze. It was undeniable that she had caught his attention from the first moment – both for being on the New York docks, a somewhat undesired place for most women, and for wearing men's clothes. When he came closer, her beautiful green eyes caught his attention even more.

After a conversation they had – during which she told him a summed up version of her life – she had asked for passage on his ship. Eric had asked why she wanted to come, but her explanation was that life had nothing for her in New York City.

Eric remembered that he had thought her explanation was very sad. But it wasn't only sad – it was surprisingly similar to the reason why he had boarded the Venture for the first time. He had spent almost four and half years of his life fighting in the Great War. Four and a half bloody, miserable, and wasted years, spent in the Deutsche Luftstreitkräfte, blowing planes out of the sky and constantly trying to avoid the same fate.

When the War finally ended, Eric had made his way back to his home through the shattered country-side of his homeland only to find that his family had been among the victims of the blockade of Germany, and that his house had been rented to another family by their landlord. Having nothing left for him, he left Bielefeld, and ended up ended up wandering homeless, destitute and starving. On a fateful day in September 1919, Eric found himself on the docks of Emden, where Albert Jansen, the Dutch captain of the tramp steamer _S.S. Venture_, took pity on him and hired him.

Without better choices, Englehorn had accepted. It wasn't long before he discovered that Captain Jansen was a kind and well respected man, and even began looking up to him like a son looked up to his father. And although the crew were expected to work hard; Captain Jansen ran a tight ship. For Eric, this new life on a tramp steamer was so much easier than the business of making war. Unfortunately, Captain Jansen became sick and died about four years after their meeting. Shortly before Jansen's death and much to the surprise of the whole crew, he officially left the ship and the title of Captain to Eric Englehorn. He had been Captain for little more than two years when he met Kendra.

Eric had been pleasantly surprised that Kendra took so quickly to life at sea. About a year later, they had married. Kendra never for one moment even considered staying ashore; in fact she insisted that she remain on the Venture with him. Of course this was exactly what Eric wanted because being away from her for so long would have been unbearable.

"_**Finally.**_" Eric muttered as he heard Kendra's light step on the stairs.

"_**There you are.**_"

Kendra nodded. "_**Yes, here I am. And as you can see, safe and healthy.**_"

"_**The playwright remembered his manners?**_"

Kendra leaned against the wheelhouse door jamb and looked at her husband.

"_**Between his obvious seasickness, his displeasure at having to sleep in a cage, his dizziness at the smell in the hold, and his amazement at finding a woman like me on the ship, he didn't have the strength to have poor manners.**_"

Eric exhaled some of his anxiety with a cloud of smoke, and then crushed the cigarette into a tin ash tray.

"_**That's good to hear.**_"

Eric watched Kendra as she stood there chewing her forefinger. She only did that when she was nervous or upset.

"_**What's wrong?**_"

"_**Nothing.**_"

Eric put his hands on his hips and turned to face his wife.

"_**Kendra?**_"

Kendra guiltily dropped her hand to her side and looked at a point above and to the right of Eric's shoulder.

"_**It was nothing. Nothing I couldn't take care of.**_"

Eric took two steps forward and gently took Kendra by her upper arm.

"_**What is that supposed to mean?**_"

Kendra met his intense stare with flashing eyes of her own.

"_**Eric…**_"

Englehorn recognized the tone in his wife's voice. He forced his anger down and took a deep breath. They'd been through this before. Of course it was partly his fault. After he had pitched that Charlie Abbot overboard, Kendra had been slow to tell him if anyone had bothered her, preferring to 'take care' of it herself. He both loved her independence and was frustrated by it at the same time.

Eric relaxed his grip on her arm and rubbed it instead.

"_**Go ahead, you can tell me. I promise I won't throw anyone off the ship.**_"

Kendra bit her bottom lip. "_**It was that Bruce…**_"

Eric's face darkened. "_**…Baxter.**_"

Eric was very familiar with that name. Kendra had suggested that they go to the picture show and see a movie. She had read that Mr. Baxter was quite an actor and that his movies were exciting. Eric was mildly intrigued, so they had seen _Dame Tamer_. Twenty minutes into the picture both he and Kendra came to the conclusion that it had been wasted money. It was obvious that whatever cinematic critics that had spoken well of the arrogant peacock had even worse sight than that of the rhinoceroses Eric had captured on some of his voyages.

"_**He's as bad in real life as he is in his movies.**_" Kendra said.

"_**That doesn't make me feel any better.**_"

"_**Don't worry.**_" she assured Eric. "_**When I told him who I was married to, he seemed surprised. I don't think he'll give me any more trouble.**_"

Eric glowered. "_**If he puts one finger on you, Kendra, I reserve the right to pitch him overboard.**_"

Kendra smiled and wrapped her arms around her husband. "_**Calm down, Eric. You know you are the only one who can…**_"

"Kendra!" Hissed Englehorn. He gestured behind them with his head.

Kendra peered over her husband's shoulder. She sighed.

Both the first mate, Benjamin Hayes, and the helmsman, David Adams, were smiling at the two of them. Hayes winked.

Kendra blushed.

* * *

_Well, this is it. I hope that you enjoyed this chapter, and also that the Englehorn fangirls who read it don't feel too jealous for not being in Kendra's place! And tell me if you found out the character from 'Allo 'Allo! that features in this chapter. Anyway, please, leave a review!_


	5. Chapter 5: Not a luxury cruise

_Hello again. Well, after some time of absence, here I am, with another posted chapter. The boat voyage carries on, we get a bit of a grip on some characters, and we meet new ones. Attention please, I know character introduction might become a little bit tiring, but all the characters introduced in this chapter will have a relatively important role somewhere in the story. And yes, I sort of introduce dates in the beginning of some chapters, for me to keep track of time. Oh, and before I started, I just might as well thank to all those who have so far reviewed. So thanks a lot to marinawings, elvespiratesandcowboysohmy, Unitarian Jihadist, Phantom Creedy lover, TakaPL, and Pup of Power, for reading this fanfic. And sorry for this chapter being again quite a bit of novelisation from the film._

_Now that this is over, let's begin._

**

* * *

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**Chapter 5 – Not a luxury cruise**

_Atlantic Ocean, September 26th, 1933_

The rising sun shone through the intermittent holes in the cloud covered sky, spreading a grayish light over the _Venture _as it sailed through the grayish-blue water.

On the tramp steamer, Ann Darrow walked through the corridors that lead to the galley. She was quite hungry after a night of rest in her cabin. It had not been a very good rest she had to admit, but it was sufficient she supposed. She had dreamt quite clearly that they had found Skull Island. The dream was so real, in fact, she had frightened herself awake. When she had tried to go back to sleep, Ann felt like a six year old child who was afraid to close her eyes for fear of the monsters under her bed.

Ann had never looked to one of her uncle's expeditions with fear until now. When her parents were still alive, she eagerly awaited Leonard's rare so she could hear the stories that he told of faraway places. The first time she had accompanied her uncle on an archaeological expedition, she had been too grief-stricken and homesick to get scared. Over the time, she came to enjoy the expeditions. They were part of her life now.

But this one was different. If what Valdemar had recorded in his journal was accurate, this expedition had the potential of being very dangerous indeed. Ann hoped Carl Denham would take as much time as possible shooting his moving picture in Singapore.

For the present moment, the only place she wanted to discover this morning was the galley. She found a door that seemed to be the right one – even though she doubted the smell coming from it was actually food!

Ann peeked through a small round window and saw that she really had found the galley. As she entered, most of the eyes there turned to her with clear interest. Ann felt somewhat disturbed by the looks that all the sailors pinned on her. Carl Denham was also there sitting at a table with three men. The look he gave her was one of pure annoyance. He leaned forward and spoke to his companions just loud enough for Ann to hear.

"Cripes, dressed like that she looks like one of the crew."

Ann ignored his comment – although in a way she knew he was right. Most English women didn't wear trousers or knee-high leather boots. But trousers weren't lifted by the cold wind, and boots were better suited in maintaining balance on an unstable ship's deck.

Ann looked over and saw two muscular men sitting at a table in a corner. One was tall and grey-haired, the other shorter and dark-haired. They definitely weren't sailors, though; their navy-blue overcoats seemed just too clean for that. Their dress didn't matter to Ann, rather, she appreciated the normal manner in which they were looking at her.

"A fine morning, isn't it Ma'am?" said the dark-headed man.

"Yes, it is a lovely morning." Ann replied.

She walked over to the two men and extended her hand. The dark-headed man got up and shook her hand.

"I'm Ann Darrow."

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Chester Brown."

"And I'm Steve Bennett." His bushy moustache shook slightly as he spoke. He got up and shook Ann's hand as well. "I'm also pleased to meet you."

"Likewise." Ann said.

She looked around the galley trying to discover if her uncle, Dollar, or any of the huge men that accompanied him were there. Finding none of them, she turned back to Chester and Steve.

She pointed a slender finger to the bowls of porridge the men were eating.

"Do you know where I can get some breakfast?"

"Right there, Miss Darrow." replied Chester.

He gestured to a man shaving a sailor. The sailor had his back turned to Ann and was standing next to a huge bubbling pot of what she assumed was breakfast. Ann took a bowl and spoon from the pile of dishes that was next to the stove.

"Excuse me."

The man turned to her. He had scruffy stubble and moustache and a right eye that appeared to be permanently screwed up.

"Yes?"

Ann pointed to the pot with a ladle sticking out of it.

"May I?"

"At will, lass." replied the man. "Eat as much 'porridge à la walnut' as you want."

_Why is it named that?_

Ann served herself a small scoop, and then looked for a table to sit at.

"Would you like to sit here with us, Miss Darrow?" invited Steve. He indicated a place at their table.

Ann hesitated for a moment. She was usually wary of strangers, which was something Steve and Chester were. But they seemed nice enough. It shouldn't be a big risk to sit with them.

"Sure, why not?" she answered. She sat down and placed the spoon in the bowl.

"Watch out, Miss Darrow." said Chester. "You may not like that."

Ann's eyebrows shot up in surprise. Her spoon stopped half way to her mouth.

"Lumpy's cooking is not exactly the tastiest I've ever had." continued Chester.

"Very funny." Said the man who was shaving the sailor.

Ann turned her eyes to Lumpy hoping she hadn't offended him. She saw him turning back and adding in a somewhat friendlier way.

"But don't ya worry, Miss Darrow. You'll get used to my cooking – like everyone else on this ship."

Ann just smiled politely at the cook, and turned her attention back to the porridge. Before long, Ann heard Denham speaking. She looked up from her breakfast wondering if he had more sarcastic remarks for her.

"Aren't Bruce and Alexandra coming to eat?"

"I'm not sure." said the youngest of the men with him. "Mr. Baxter may come, but I heard that Miss May wanted breakfast in her cabin."

"Then what are you waiting for? Take it to her, Preston! We have to keep our actors as satisfied as possible. Get going!"

As the young man got hastily to his feet, Carl continued.

"In the meantime, I'm going to see if Englehorn has a typewriter for Jack so he can get working on the rest of the script."

Preston, who was scooping porridge into a bowl for Ms. May, looked confused.

"Is Mr. Driscoll on board?"

Carl smiled broadly. "As a matter of fact he is. Jack decided to join us at the last moment."

At the sound of that name, Ann choked on a mouthful of porridge and began coughing.

Chester clapped her on the back.

"Are you alright, Miss Darrow?"

Ann coughed again and then swallowed. Her eyes were watering from the effort.

"Yes, yes, I'm alright." Ann managed to say.

She couldn't believe it! After so much time, could it be true that they were actually on the same ship? Had fate somehow brought them together or was this just plain and simple coincidence? At the very least, Ann knew that she would be able to meet him again. Perhaps become reacquainted. She desperately hoped he remembered her. If he didn't, she would not be able to bear it.

But what was he doing on a ship? The Jack Driscoll she knew got seasick by merely looking at a boat. He would never go on a long boat journey, unless he had a very strong reason for it.

"So, Miss Darrow, what are you doing on this ship?"

Steve's question snapped her out of her thoughts. She took some time to reply.

"I am going on an archaeological expedition with my uncle."

She swallowed another spoonful of porridge, and added:

"And you, where are you two going?"

"Chester and I are going to visit a friend of ours in Singapore." said Steve.

"He left New York three years ago without a penny in his pocket, and now he's got more money than he can count." Chester added.

"Not only that." said Steve. "He got married about one month ago. He invited us to the wedding, but we couldn't go."

"We decided to bring him and his blushing new bride their wedding present personally." concluded Chester. "Not to mention we're rather curious to meet his wife."

At that moment, the galley's door burst open, and a woman swept in. She had her left hand on her stomach, and the expression on her face clearly indicated that she was suffering from seasickness. She seemed to be trying rather hard to keep balance in her high-heeled shoes. When she stood straighter, Ann recognized her as the actress Alexandra May. The actress managed to replace her seasick expression by a stern one and then began shouting:

"Right! Who is the cook here?"

"I am." replied Lumpy.

Alexandra walked straight to him. "Then I have got a couple of words for you."

Still shaving the sailor, Lumpy grunted.

"Can you look at me when I'm speaking to you? What, were you raised in a barn?"

With deliberate slowness, Lumpy turned and looked at Alexandra.

"What is it?" He rasped.

Alexandra winced when Lumpy looked at her, almost as if she was thinking that it would have been better if the sailor had kept his head turned away.

"Your porridge is terrible. You should have some cooking lessons, you know!"

"Is that all?"

Shocked by Lumpy's indifference, Alexandra thrust her hand in Lumpy's face. Her thumb and forefinger were pinched together.

"I found a hair in my so called porridge. And it isn't mine!" She added in an outraged voice.

By now, the attention of everyone in the galley was fixed on the tumultuous actress. Chester got out of his chair, and smiling, walked over to the outraged woman.

He extended his hand and in a falsely polite voice said:

"Then give it to me, please. I'll keep it, in case someone comes to look for it."

Everyone laughed at Chester's comment. Steve, the sailors, even the other two men who had been sitting with Carl Denham, did nothing to restrain themselves. Even Ann caught herself chuckling. She knew it was rude for a lady to laugh at someone else like that, but Chester's retort mixed with the shocked expression on Alexandra's face was just too much.

Alexandra turned to Ann. "You think that is funny, ya stupid blonde?"

Ann, already on edge from Denham's comment, felt her annoyance blossom into anger at the insult.

Chester stepped between Ann and Alexandra, his arms lifted in an appeasing gesture.

"Hey, calm down." He turned to Alexandra. "Look, Miss, this may not be a luxury cruise, but there's no need to insult anyone, alright?"

Alexandra turned around and stomped out of the galley.

"Jack Driscoll better be writing a good script, that's all I can say, because if this movie doesn't put me back on top…"

Ann didn't hear the rest of the sentence, because the actress pushed the galley door open, and then disappeared. Alexandra May, however, was the least of her worries. Jack Driscoll was on the Venture. Jack Driscoll!

"I'm sorry, Miss Darrow." Said Chester.

"For what?"

"If not for my rather flippant comment, Miss May wouldn't have insulted you."

"It wasn't your fault."

"That's right, Chester," said Steve from his corner, "it's not your fault that Miss May was so rude."

"Mr. Bennett is absolutely right, Mr. Brown." said Ann.

"Please, call me Chester. Mr. Brown sounds too formal."

Ann smiled. "Then Chester it is."

* * *

Jack Driscoll was sitting on a crate inside his cage, his long fingers pounding away at the keys of the typewriter Carl had found for him. It seemed that Englehorn had one hidden away in the depths of the ship. Thank heavens for that. Jack hated the idea of having to write the rest of the script by hand.

Carl seemed only too happy to fetch him a typewriter and plenty of paper, but the man showed absolutely no regret for forcing Jack into his current situation: seasick and typing on an old typewriter in the stinking hold of a ship. It seemed to Jack that writing the script was the only thing he was good for.

Writing. The thing he dedicated every particle of his being to. It was the sun that lit his life. Even better was that his writing made him such a fantastic living. He had a decent apartment, nice clothing, and plenty of hot meals-things that many inhabitants of the crisis-ravaged New York City sorely lacked.

Jack felt that he had something to say to and about the world, and his plays were a good mean of transmitting his messages. In his own small way, Jack hoped that he was contributing something good, something useful, and something meaningful.

Jack had become serious about writing when he was only thirteen years old. Before that, he had been a fairly typical young man, although his siblings accused him of being a little bit too well-behaved, and thought that his attempts of trying to solve problems peacefully were a little off the beaten path. Jack supposed that was just the way he was. Even now, most people called him too polite for his own good. His eighth grade English teacher, Mrs. Melville, had changed the course of the shy thirteen year old boy when she challenged the class to an essay contest. Jack entered it on a whim, and much to his surprise, he won.

Jack felt that a fire had been lit in his very soul. From then on, he knew he would be a writer. He loved it. It was his passion.

So, it seemed rather ironic that the thing he loved doing the most in the world was the thing that had caged him in the gut of this stinking, rusty, rolling prison.

The gentle swelling and rocking motion made Jack's stomach to twist. He had always gotten seasick on ships and boats since he could remember. The trip his family had taken to his father's birthplace, Ireland, had been torturous for the then ten-year-old Jack. Since then, Jack had scrupulously avoided taking any sea voyages. Of course the stench in the hold made everything worse. It seemed to Jack that his every waking moment was a struggle stop himself from vomiting. Jack stopped typing, closed his eyes, and hunched forward on the crate.

_Without a doubt, this was Carl's fault!_

Jack had always known that Carl was a bit eccentric, but Jack never thought he would resort to kidnapping! Jack's family had repeatedly warned him that one day Carl would get him into real trouble. Well, that day had come, hadn't it? So here he was, seasick and stuck in a stinking lion's cage on a ship heading into oblivion.

And that wasn't even the worst of it. He should be in New York right now for the opening of _Isolation_. In three days, if his calculations were correct, it would be opening night. He'd never missed a single performance of one of his plays. And of course there was his family. He was in the habit of sending news quite regularly, so his sudden disappearance would be very hard on them.

"Compliments of the chef." said a voice, snapping Jack out of his semi-torpid state.

Jack took his head out of his hands and looked up. It was one of the ship's crew – a tow-headed young man who was wearing a crafty grin.

"There you go, lunch special."

Lunch? Was that late already? He felt so sick that he had totally lost track of time. Jack briefly turned his eyes to what the young sailor had brought. It was a disgusting grey blob in the middle of a sizeable plate. Bile rose in his throat that had little to do with the ship.

Jack turned his head away and retched. "Oh Christ, oh God…" He whimpered.

"Lamb's brains in walnut sauce." said the sailor in an amused voice.

Jack wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve and clutched his stomach. Lamb's brains. Why anyone would want to eat brains was beyond him.

"Jimmy!" said a deep voice.

Determined to get his mind off his awful looking lunch, Jack looked at the large black man that had entered the hold. He was looking sternly at Jimmy.

"Did you run those ropes on deck like I told you?"

"Doing it now, Mr. Hayes." said Jimmy. He immediately bolted out of the cage.

Hayes grabbed Jimmy's wrist and then turned it toward Jack.

"What if you return Mr. Driscoll's pen first?"

Jack noticed his fountain pen in Jimmy's hand. The kid dropped the pen and then scampered up the ladder and out of the hold. Hayes picked the pen up off the filthy floor and handed it to Jack.

"He don't mean no harm."

Jack nodded. "Thanks."

"I'll keep him out of your way."

Jack shrugged. "It's a pen, not the end of the world."

"I found him down here, four years ago, hiding in one of the back cages. He had his right arm broken in two places, and was wilder than half of the animals that have ever been here. I still don't know where he came from… but from a good place, it wasn't."

Jack didn't reply to Hayes, but instead wondered how long it would take before _he _started acting like a wild animal.

* * *

Hayes climbed out of the hold and scanned the deck for Jimmy. Hayes knew that the boy had not meant any harm when he took Mr. Driscoll's pen, it was as if stealing was part of Jimmy. Hayes suspected that the young man had grown up in an environment where it had been necessary to steal to survive. But it had been four years. When would the boy realize he was safe and that he had no reason to be afraid? Finding Jimmy broken and bloody and more dead than alive in the hold of the _Venture_ four years ago had some how bonded the young man to Hayes. He now felt responsible for Jimmy. Hayes wasn't the only one who felt that way towards the young sailor. Mrs. Englehorn provided a much needed motherly influence in Jimmy's life. She hugged him every morning after breakfast and made sure he washed behind his ears. The kid had clean ears, but he still had a problem with sticky fingers. A problem that had Hayes feeling frustrated and embarrassed for Jimmy.

Finally, he noticed the kid, running the ropes, just like Hayes had told.

"Jimmy." called Hayes.

The boy turned from his work to the first mate. Jimmy had an uneasy look on his face.

"How many times have I told you that you don't need to steal things?"

There was a long pause before Jimmy spoke.

"A lot?" Jimmy finally managed.

Hayes grunted.

"And how many more times more do I need to tell you so it'll finally get into that thick head of yours?" shouted Hayes.

This time, Jimmy did not answer the question. He quickly turned back at his work, now with a scared look on his face.

Hayes sighed in annoyance and impatience, not only at Jimmy, but at himself as well.

"Look, Jimmy, I didn't mean to shout at you." Hayes's voice was remorseful. "I don't understand why you won't stop taking things. Did you have to, before you came to the _Venture_?"

Jimmy lifted his eyes from his work. The feral look that Hayes had first seen in him flitted across his face.

"I don't want to talk about it." growled the kid.

"I'm not trying to get anything out of you." Hayes lifted his arms in an appeasing gesture. "You'll tell me when you're good and ready. But even if you ever thought you needed to steal, you don't have to anymore."

Jimmy just looked away and returned his attention to the ropes.

"Look, Jimmy, you've got to straighten up."

Jimmy did not look up from his duties.

"You don't want to stay on this ship for the rest of your life."

"Yes, I do!" countered Jimmy.

"You don't, Jimmy. You can't spend the rest of your days here. This place doesn't give you many options for a good and stable life. To have better options, you must get out of here. And for you to do well off the _Venture_ you have to be smart. You need to get yourself educated. You must take this seriously!"

"I do, Mr. Hayes!" said Jimmy. He lifted his pea coat and took a book out from between his belt and trousers. He handed it to Hayes. "I've been reading."

Hayes took the book. It was _Heart of Darkness_, by Joseph Conrad. Hayes had read it himself some time ago. He had not enjoyed it in full, mainly because of the racist matters it raised. But that wasn't his main thought at the moment.

"Where did you get this?"

"I borrowed it." replied Jimmy.

Hayes opened the book and saw, 'Property of the New York public library' inscribed on the inside cover.

"On long term loan." added Jimmy, clearly reading Hayes' thoughts.

Jimmy turned the book to the back cover, and read slowly:

"Adventures on a tramp steamer. See? Just like us."

Hayes handed the book back to Jimmy.

"No, Jimmy, not just like us…"

"Looks like this isn't as bad as I thought." A voice interrupted.

Hayes looked in the voice's direction and saw that the multi millionaire, Thomas Davison, more commonly known as Mr. Dollar, had shown up on deck. He was, of course, accompanied by his four Herculean bodyguards. Hayes was a big man, easily over six feet tall, but these behemoths were all four to five inches taller than that. What did the man have to hide that required four small mountains as protection?

Hayes felt a pang of apprehension as he looked at the four men that followed Dollar. They were all trouble, of that Hayes had no doubt.

"This rusty heap of junk is hanging on so far." Dollar said to his closest guard. "I kind of expected it to sink three hours after departing."

Hayes was right. Trouble. There was something about the man that got under Hayes' skin, and before he could stop himself, he responded to Dollar's comment.

"No one had a gun to your head when you hired the _Venture_, so why'd you do it?"

"I wouldn't have if I had seen it first."

"If you hate it so much, you can always swim back to New York. That'd free up a few cabins, and then Mr. Driscoll wouldn't have to sleep down in the hold in an animal cage."

"That where you sleep, too? Huh, Hayes? Seems to me you'd feel right at home down there." Dollar's grey eyes were pinned on Hayes.

"I'm surprised the Captain let those four mastodons that permanently follow you sleep in the cabins topside. Seems to me they'd feel more comfortable down there."

None of Dollar's guards reacted. They just stood there with ridiculously blank looks on their faces. Jimmy put his hand over his mouth and tried to muffle his laughter. Suddenly, Dollar's expression became more sinister. He cracked his knuckles and took a step toward Jimmy.

"You think it's funny, hey kid? Let's see if you will still think it's funny when I teach you a lesson."

Hayes stepped protectively in front of Jimmy. He folded his arms over his chest and glared at Dollar.

"Leave him alone. Or you'll regret it."

Dollar backed up a step, but he didn't seem intimidated at all by Hayes.

"I don't take orders or threats from anyone." said Dollar. "And sure as hell not from a negro."

Venomous disdain dripped from his voice.

Hayes clenched his fists. He was used to scorn, disrespect, and even insults coming from some white folks. But for some reason, those things coming from Dollar disturbed him even more. The man was an arrogant jackass who seemed to think he could treat everyone like vermin – just because he had money.

Dollar took two more menacing steps toward Jimmy. Hayes pulled his bridge coat open and made sure Dollar and his goons caught sight of his M1911 pistol holstered at his hip.

"I told you to leave him alone."

Dollar stopped and looked from Jimmy to Hayes, as if he was analyzing his possibilities and outcomes. The multi-millionaire finally glared savagely at Hayes one last time, and then left. But not before turning his eyes back to Jimmy, and saying with deadly voice:

"I'll deal with you later."

His eyes seemed to add, _When you don't have Mr. Hayes around to protect you._

* * *

"Jack!" Carl's voice echoed through the hold. "What have you got for me, friend?"

Jack peered over the top of the typewriter. He pointed to the barrel at the entrance of his cage. "There. Three copies of three scenes."

Carl grabbed one of the copies and read through the pages.

"This is great!" said Carl. "Just fantastic. Perfect."

"So glad you think so." mumbled Jack.

He leaned back against the cage's bars and moaned.

"Hey Jack, pull yourself together. You're going to spend weeks here. You can't start falling apart already."

Jack pushed himself back upright. "Weeks? I'm going to spend weeks in here? What do you mean weeks? You mean days, right?"

Carl shook his head regretfully. "No, I mean weeks."

Jack slumped backward again. He couldn't believe it. Weeks stuck in this reeking hold, sleeping in a cage, and eating lamb's brains? Weeks of the_ Venture's_ infernal swaying and rocking?

_I am going to die!_

"Jack!" called Carl, now clearly alarmed. "Are you alright?"

Carl's words registered somewhere in Jack's brain, but he found himself unable to reply through the fog of nausea that permeated his brain.

"Come on, Jack." begged Carl. He kneeled at Jack's side and patted the writer's shoulder. "Come on, pull yourself together. Don't die on me."

In a desperate effort, he grabbed one of the scene's copies and started waving it like a fan in front of Jack's face.

Jack felt the air moving across his face but it did little good. The seasickness kept coming. He couldn't hold it back any longer.

Jack lurched to his feet, pushed Carl out of the way, and stumbled to the nearest porthole. As soon as he reached it, he leaned his head out of the ship, and threw up.

"Feel better?"

As he turned around, Jack wiped his mouth on his shirt sleeve and then said:

"Well here's another nice mess you've got me into."

* * *

_Well, here it is. I hope that all those who read this chapter have enjoyed it. In case you're making many questions, yes, I know two women on the same place wearing trousers - Ann and Kendra - in the 1930's is stretching the rope a bit, but I sort of figure this version of Ann as an archaeologist's niece would be more open to that kind of thing. I tried to make a jokey scene out of the "hair in the porridge scene". I hope I succeeded. And sorry for such a complainative actress, but I guess most actresses of the time - those not getting without work by the Depression, that is - used to have everything from the best quality would complain quite a lot on a tramp steamer. Oh, and just a small explanation. I know some of you may be confused for Carl's worry at the end of this chapter, but I thought I should just explain you. The only thing I thought was better on the original 1933 King Kong than on the 2005 remake was Carl Denham. Even so, I think the 2005 Carl Denham is a better guy than most of you give him credit for (hey, no offense meant to any of you, OK? I just know the opinions about that character are not so high), so I'll try to make him just a LITTLE bit nicer. When this story ends, I hope I managed a decent Carl Denham._

_Oh, and who of you manages to recognize who Jack is quoting on his last line on this chapter?_

_Now, please, review!_


	6. Chapter 6: Doubts and scares

_Hello. Here am I, with another chapter written. Well, like I guess I already said (if I didn't say, I am going to say it for the first time) I'm very sorry if it looks to anyone that the plot is just crawling, but well, I do think these smaller moments are important. And well, I don't really guess any reader from Shadows of the Past (other than TakaPL) skipped into this fanfic, but Shadows of the Past was a fanfic with 70 chapters. If this fanfic will ever reach 70 chapters, I don't know, but it's probably going to be a pretty large number of them, anyway._

_Oh, and another thing readers of Shadows of the Past should know is that I have a huge tendency for subplots. I try to make those as important as possible, and while I'll try to reduce the subplots to the least possible, it's likely there end up being quite some in here._

_Oh, and sorry if any of you male readers doesn't like the moment between the Englehorns in the end. I tried to make it - as well with the whole chapter - to add some depth to the characters, so nobody accuses me of being pointless._

_Oh, and the character that makes a crossover with the British comedy 'Allo'Allo! has another cameo in this chapter. If anyone of you finds it, tell me._

_Now that this is over, let's begin._

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 6 – Doubts and scares**

Ann Darrow gripped the railing of the ship and kept her blue eyes on the horizon, trying to keep from bringing up her lunch. She didn't consider herself to be very particular about food, but when she ate Lumpy's meal, it tasted so strange that she had asked the cook what it was. The answer had almost made her to vomit on the spot.

Leonard supported his niece's side and put a hand on her forehead. "Ann, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Uncle Leonard. Just slightly unnerved after finding out what I had eaten."

"I know tramp steamers do not usually have the best cooking, but still, lamb's brains in walnut sauce? Rather disgusting if you ask me."

After his moment of irritation, Leonard leaned again over his niece.

"Do you need anything, my dear?"

Ann felt her legs faltering. "I need to sit down."

Leonard led her to a crate and helped Ann sit down. She inhaled deeply, trying to overcome the queasy feeling in her stomach. As if Lumpy's food was not enough, the thought of meeting Jack Driscoll made her feel even worse.

"Are you sure you feel alright?" insisted Leonard.

Ann was about to say yes, but then the idea that sooner or later she would meet Jack Driscoll entered her mind again. Perhaps it would be better to take her uncle's question as the cue for her to go to her cabin. Not only would it giver her time to rest and recover from Lumpy's lamb's brains, but she could also practice for her meeting with Jack Driscoll.

"I guess that I could do with some rest. Maybe I'll just lie down for a while." said Ann, trying to sound that was what she meant. Too bad she was terrible at lying.

Leonard's eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Would you like me to keep you company? I could read to you, or..."

"I couldn't impose on you like that." Ann interrupted quickly. "I know you wanted to go watch Mr. Denham filming his moving picture. I'll just be resting. I'll be fine."

"As you wish, Ann, dear. It will be jolly interesting to see a movie from the other side of the process."

Ann smiled weakly, grateful her uncle did not press the matter further. "Have a good time. I'll see you later."

* * *

Ann entered her cabin, still trying to decide how to act when she finally met up with Jack Driscoll. What was she going to do? Would it be more proper to behave with respect and treat him as the playwright that she loved, or as the best friend that he had been for her during her first six years in America? How would he react when he saw her? Would he even remember her at all?

Ann did not want to think about all the different possibilities and their respective outcomes. But she knew it was better to be prepared for her meeting with Jack Driscoll, and there was no better way for that other than practicing. Perhaps she would even dress up a bit, but she dreaded the idea of wearing a skirt and high-heeled shoes in an unstable, windy, and cold ship. But a man like Jack Driscoll wouldn't think very well of her if she wore a shirt, trousers, and knee-high leather boots.

Ann took her copy of _Isolation_ out of her suitcase, and then put her tan button-up overcoat on a hanger. She opened the play, stood in front of the mirror, and began rehearsing what to say.

"Hello Jack, how are you? It's me, Ann Darrow, your childhood friend. Do you remember me?" said Ann with cheerful voice.

Both the words and the tone that came out of her mouth sounded absolutely stupid. It didn't seem the right way at all to start talking to a friend that she had not seen for sixteen years.

Ann tried again.

"Jack! It's so good to see you again..."

That one also sounded stupid. What if he didn't remember her at all? She would sound crazy! Perhaps she should just address him as Mr. Driscoll instead of Jack just in case he _didn't_ remember her.

"But I've always called him Jack…" She told her reflection.

Rehearsing was turning out to be much more difficult than she thought. Ann inhaled deeply and moved her hand up and down her reflection, forcing herself to calm down. She was not managing anything decent, and she wouldn't if she kept nervous.

She tried a third time.

"Hi, Jack! It's good to see you again! What have you been up to for all of these years since I last saw you?"

That one sounded the most idiotic of all. She knew all of Jack Driscoll's plays, she had a copy of each of them, and had seen every of them in the theatre. If Ann asked that, she would certainly sound ignorant to her friend's ears. If Jack _had_ remembered her after all of these years, he would think that she _hadn't,_ because if Ann had remembered him, surely she would know all about his success as a playwright.

"Let's just try one last time…" Ann said, looking on the mirror. "Hello, Jack! How have you been? You write wonderful plays, and I'm a huge fan of yours."

Ann's wide smile faded. "No, too much." She sighed.

Her heart almost blowing up with irritation at herself, Ann smacked her copy of _Isolation_ against the table and sat down on her bunk, resting her chin on her hands. Why was it so hard to decide what to say to her friend? Nothing of what she had tried out seemed natural! Well, maybe that's the problem. When she met Jack, maybe she just needed to be natural! But if he didn't remember her, she would look naturally dumb!

_I must calm down._ Ann kept thinking. _I must calm down. Whenever I meet Jack, I just have to act naturally. And maybe I should also measure my words, instead of coming up with anything that comes to my mind. Anyway, if Jack doesn't remember me, it's not going to be the end of the world. It's going to be a disappointment, but not the end of the world._

* * *

Jimmy leaned on the railing, his arms' muscles aching after running up all the ropes like Mr. Hayes had told him to do. He knew that Mr. Hayes was still disappointed with him for having, once again, succumbed to his habit of stealing. But, Jimmy thought, Mr. Hayes should be proud of Jimmy for trying to improve his reading. Mr. Hayes did not approve of Jimmy 'borrowing' the copy of _Heart of Darkness_, but as he grew up, that had been the only way of getting anything. And old habits die hard, but Jimmy honestly wanted to improve. That was why he had gotten his own book to read. So far, he had not managed to read much it. It was the most complex book he had ever tried to read. But Jimmy wanted to finish it because that would make Mr. Hayes proud of him.

The _Venture_ was the only place where he felt safe. He would not waste this chance.

Jimmy rubbed his right arm. He had ended up on the ship right when he thought he would die, with his right arm broken in two places, and so many other injuries that he sometimes wondered how he had survived. But Jimmy didn't like to recall his past. Nor did he like to think about the future. For him, only the present was important. This was his life, and Mr. Hayes was his father – although Jimmy would never voice that, for he didn't know how Mr. Hayes would think about that.

Jimmy snapped out of his thoughts when he saw Dollar and the four hatchet men that accompanied him walking past. Feeling that he would be safer within arms reach of Mr. Hayes, Jimmy spotted the first mate standing by a large drum several yards away. He quickly made his way along the ship's deck until he was only a few feet from Hayes. Jimmy casually leaned up against the railing.

Mr. Hayes was talking to a man dressed in a navy-blue overcoat. Jimmy recognized him as Chester Brown, one of the two passengers who was going to visit their friend in Singapore. Mr. Hayes and Mr. Brown seemed to be talking about Mr. Denham, who was currently making what he called 'tests' with the two actors he had brought on the ship. Jimmy did not understand what that meant. And apparently, neither did Mr. Hayes nor Mr. Brown.

"Looks kinda silly, don't it?" asked Mr. Hayes, as they looked to Denham giving some instructions to Miss May.

"Sort of." said Mr. Brown. "But Miss May sure is a pretty dame."

"If it was a matter of pretty dames, Denham could use that blonde woman, Miss Darrow."

Mr. Brown nodded. "In fact, you're right. She would look fabulous on the silver screen. For that matter, so would the captain's wife. She's quite a looker."

"Mrs. Englehorn would never accept." said Mr. Hayes. "Neither would the captain."

Feeling safer, Jimmy allowed his mind to sail a bit as the talking drifted to the Captain's wife. Personally, Jimmy would prefer if Mrs. Englehorn was married to Mr. Hayes. If during the last four years Mr. Hayes had been his father, Mrs. Englehorn had been his mother. Jimmy sometimes felt embarrassed by her habits of checking behind his ears and hugging him after breakfast in plain sight like if he was a kid, but deep down he loved to have someone who cared for him like that. And it would look more natural if his mother and father were married. But Mrs. Englehorn was the Captain's Lady, and Jimmy respected that.

"Anyway, it ends up being sort of interesting to see the moving picture from this side of the camera." said Mr. Brown, making Jimmy turn to listen.

"Last moving picture I saw was in 1923." said Mr. Hayes. "_The Pilgrim_, with Charlie Chaplin."

Mr. Hayes chuckled for a moment, and asked:

"Is that guy still making pictures? He was real funny."

"Let's see, I remember seeing _The Gold Rush_, _The Circus_, and _City Lights_." said Mr. Brown. "They were all superb."

At that moment, Mr. Brown's eyes darted from Mr. Hayes to Jimmy.

"Oh, hello James."

Those three words were enough to make Jimmy's heartbeat accelerate crazily, but at the same time, his limbs froze. No one on the entire ship called him James. They hadn't been introduced, and even if they had, no one would have introduced him as James. Yet this man had called him James.

"Is everything alright?" asked Brown.

The question entered Jimmy's head through one ear and exited through the other. There was only one way this man could know who he was. He was one of them. One of the men Jimmy had spent most of his life running from – and who had nearly killed him four years ago. Jimmy had never seen any of their faces, as the attack had come at night.

Jimmy saw Mr. Hayes moving his lips with a concerned look on his face, but he didn't hear what he said, for the world's sounds, other than his own panicked breathing and thumping heartbeat, had seemed to have turned off.

Without thinking, Jimmy turned away and shot off like a singed cheetah. He only stopped when he reached the back cages in the hold, ignoring the stench and the darkness. This was where Mr. Hayes had found him. This was where he had first come to look for refuge. This was where he felt safe whenever he was troubled. He sat down and hugged his knees, but he could still feel himself shivering from fear. If one of those men was on this ship, then he would go back to tell the others.

And when that happened, Jimmy would die.

* * *

Hayes grabbed the collar of Brown's overcoat and slammed him against the wall.

"What did you do?" boomed Hayes right into Brown's face.

The shorter man was gasping for breath. Hayes relaxed his grip on Brown's collar.

"I just said 'Hello James.'" managed Brown in a choked voice. "Is there anything wrong with greeting a kid?"

Hayes saw that Brown seemed to be honestly confused with the whole situation, but there was one thing that did not make sense.

"How did you know his name is James? You two haven't even met, and besides, everyone on board calls him Jimmy. And why the hell did he run off like that?"

"I never saw the kid!" said Brown. "Honest! It just… came out!"

"I'm supposed to believe that you took one look at Jimmy and decided to call him James?"

Hayes leaned forward menacingly. He stopped short when he heard a shocked voice behind him.

"Mr. Hayes!"

Hayes' large right hand stopped in mid-way to Brown's throat. He looked aside, and saw Mrs. Englehorn looking right at him. She looked puzzled, shocked, and a little angry.

Mr. Hayes relaxed his grip on Brown's overcoat. Normally he behaved how he wanted to. Being First Mate, the only two people above him were Captain Englehorn and his wife. In fact, it still amazed him how Mrs. Englehorn managed to give orders like that. There had been a time when he'd laugh at the idea of a woman giving orders to her husband's, but it was undeniable for him now that Kendra Englehorn knew how to give orders, and wise ones at that.

"What is going on here?" asked Mrs. Englehorn, her arms folded across her chest. Her green eyes flashed with anger.

"Your first mate is crazy." said Brown. "I just greeted one of your crewmembers, and he tried to murder me!"

Mrs. Englehorn nodded silently, and then turned her piercing green eyes to Hayes. She spoke with barely contained anger.

"The captain has put the utmost trust in you, Mr. Hayes. Is his trust misplaced?"

Hayes held Kendra's gaze. "The only thing I know is Mr. Brown, here, called Jimmy by his given name even though the two of them hadn't been introduced. Jimmy took off like he was being chased by a mad elephant. It looked an awful lot like he was havin' a…"

Kendra visibly relaxed, but her voice was still firm. "…sudden attack of memory, it would seem."

Hayes nodded. That was the term they used when Jimmy seemed to remember a bit of his disturbing, unmentioned past. Hayes could see that Mrs. Englehorn was just as suspicious as he was about Brown knowing Jimmy's name.

"Hey, I don't know what that means." said Brown. "But I swear for the souls of my deceased father, mother, and all my relatives, I haven't harmed the kid! As much as I recall, I have never seen him before! I swear I did not mean to frighten him."

Brown seemed like he would have fallen on his knees to beg their pardon if one of Hayes' hands wasn't gripping his overcoat.

"Please, you have to believe me!"

Hayes looked at Mrs. Englehorn with an inquiring look. She nodded, and Mr. Hayes released Brown's overcoat.

Relieved at being free, the black-haired man said, "I hope everything will be alright with Jimmy."

Brown seemed to be honest, but neither Hayes nor Mrs. Englehorn replied to his comment. They just watched him walk away.

"Do you think that man might have anything to do with Jimmy's past?" asked Mrs. Englehorn.

"Good question." Hayes said slowly. "Jimmy didn't give those injuries to himself. Maybe Mr. Brown had something to do with that."

"We need to keep an eye on him." said Mrs. Englehorn.

Hayes nodded. "And that Dollar, too."

"Why him? I mean he's a scoundrel to be sure, but if I had to keep an eye on every scoundrel I ever met I'd be crossed-eyed and half blind by now."

Hayes leaned over and lowered his voice. "A while ago, there was a moment when he and his four gorillas seemed bent on killing Jimmy. They only stopped when I showed them I was armed."

"What on earth did Jimmy do?"

"Nothing of no consequence. I showed the man up and Jimmy laughed. I don't trust a man so willing to beat down a man who ain't no threat to him. I'm the one that threw the jibe. Dollar should have come after me."

"You know the captain does not stand for any fighting on his ship. I'll let him know what you told me. In the mean time, keep Jimmy away from Dollar, and try to keep Mr. Brown and Dollar in your sight. We don't need any more trouble, if you know what I mean."

Hayes nodded. "Yes ma'm, I sure do. I'll send Jimmy up to the crow's nest. That ought to keep him out of trouble."

* * *

Kendra leaned against the railing, worry worming its way into her heart. What Hayes had told her about Jimmy had left her truly disturbed. During the last four years since the kid ended up on the ship, she had come to see him like the son she never had. Someday, she hoped to have children of her own, but Eric balked whenever she mentioned the topic. One of his excuses was that a tramp steamer was not the ideal place to have children – and Kendra had to agree with that, but the main reason, he pointed out, was that he 'was not good for the role of father'. Kendra thought the opposite. Of course, Eric had his flaws, but she knew his flaws would be outweighed by his wonderful qualities.

But for now, she only had Jimmy to take care of. And the fact that in a single day one man already tried to hurt him and another seemed to have hurt him in the past had troubled her. She needed to talk to Eric. He always had a way of putting things into the proper perspective.

As she turned from the railing and made her way down the deck, she caught a glimpse of Denham and his two actors. That was another thing that was causing her no small amount of concern. The other two times she and Eric had worked with Carl Denham, they had gained little. He paid them what he could, but with him, getting trouble was a bigger guarantee than getting money. Always. She dreaded to think what trouble he would deliver this time.

At that moment, Bruce Baxter, who was currently in front of the camera, turned his brown-eyed gaze on her. She immediately shot him an annoyed look, but Baxter smiled deliberately and then struck a bodybuilder pose, obviously trying to impress her. The only thing he managed to impress on Kendra's mind was that he was not going to leave her alone. Baxter obviously did not get the fact that Kendra would rather be keel-hauled than betray her beloved Eric.

Kendra, with obvious contempt on her face, turned away from the actor, and continued her way toward the wheelhouse.

* * *

Carl Denham stopped turning the crank of his Bell & Howell and watched Mrs. Englehorn disappearing into the wheelhouse. He made an impatient noise. One of the things he knew about Bruce was that his ego was bigger than a blue whale when it came to women. And something that Carl knew for sure was that if Bruce tried anything with Mrs. Englehorn, he'd be beaten twice. First by Mrs. Englehorn, and then by her husband. And Carl Denham could not afford an injured actor; it would certainly delay the filming.

Carl would have to talk to Baxter, and get straight to the point.

"Baxter, tell me you weren't posing for the benefit of Mrs. Englehorn."

"I was." said Bruce. "And so what?"

Alexandra lifted her eyes from the compact mirror in her hands.

"Bruce!" said the actress in outraged voice. "I never knew you preferred dirty, married women dressed in trousers!"

A wave of angry grumbles rippled through the watching sailors. Alexandra sniffed loudly and tossed her head, blatantly ignoring the men.

Carl had to disagree about the dirty part. Mrs. Englehorn's clothes were as weathered as those of any other crewmember, but her hair was neatly done, and her face and figure were as beautiful as those of any movie star. Not that Carl ever looked at women with any other intention than whether or not they would look good in his films. Dating and marriage were for those who could, and Carl Denham with his filmmaking career couldn't. A wife and children were a responsibility, and his career was already a big enough burden. Anyway, if at thirty seven years old he had never considered marriage, why should he begin now?

Bruce was still strutting around the deck with his chest puffed out, so Carl, wanting to preserve the health of his actor for the sake of his picture, decided he'd better to warn Baxter before he got his handsome face bashed in.

"Bruce, listen very carefully," Carl Denham spoke as if he was explaining to a crying baby that he would have to stop eating candy if he didn't want to get sick, "you may be used to women falling at your feet in New York, but if you try any of your moves on the Captain's wife, you'll discover you have a wild lioness by the tail. And after she finishes attacking you, Englehorn will take what's left over and beat that to a pulp. Twice."

Bruce remained unconcerned.

"Look, Denham, women can't get enough of me, that's a fact. Why would she be an exception? What does her so-called husband have that I don't have?"

"Do you want the short list, or the long one?" Crabtree broke in.

"Shut up, Crabtree!" spat Carl. "Having a lot of free time because you're part of a big crew doesn't mean you can cut into business that isn't yours. Get lost."

"Why should I?"

Carl grunted. English could be so arrogant at times! But he was not in the mood to argue with Crabtree, who had ten other sailors ready to back him up if necessary.

"Just keep your trap shut, OK?"

Assuming the sailor didn't answer because he agreed, Carl turned back to the camera.

"Herb, give me a filter, let's try Bruce's next shot with it." Carl said crisply. "And if you want to preserve your health, Bruce, keep your hands off the captain's wife."

* * *

Kendra entered the wheelhouse, now troubled not only because of Jimmy, but because of Baxter, too. As soon as she entered, Eric turned his amazingly blue eyes on her.

"_**Kendra.**_" He acknowledged her with a slight nod. His eyes narrowed briefly as he studied her face. He reached out and placed a hand on Kendra's arm. "_**What happened**_?"

"_**Well…**_" Kendra began.

"_**Baxter.**_" Eric growled. "_**I knew that ape wasn't going to keep his hands to himself. Whatever he's done, I'll...**_"

"_**You'll not do anything to him.**_" Kendra cut her husband off. "_**He hasn't touched me, Eric, other than the time he took me by the arm before he knew we were married.**_"

Englehorn's lips compressed into a thin line.

"_**Don't protect him, Kendra. What has he done? I have a right to know. As the captain AND your husband...**_"

Kendra gave an exasperated sigh. She loved Eric, but sometimes his over protectiveness was a burden. Kendra knew how to deal with her extra chivalrous husband, though.

"_**All he did was flex his muscles in front of me. Really, he's an overgrown child, Eric. I can take care of myself.**_"

Eric went very still. A vein throbbed at his temple. His eyes were chips of blue flint. Kendra flashed her husband a bright smile, and then wrapped her arms around his neck.

"_**He's not even worth looking at a second time, especially when I have YOU to look at every day.**_" Kendra said playfully.

Eric raised an eyebrow, his face relaxing perceptively.

"_**You wouldn't give him a second look? But would you give him a first?**_"

"_**Not willingly.**_" said Kendra.

"_**How do you think I would look flexing my muscles like Baxter**_?" Eric asked archly.

"_**I prefer seeing you standing straight at the **__Venture__**'s wheel. Or in your flight suit. Or in the naval uniform you wore on the day of our marriage. Suits you better - much more dignified.**_" Kendra brushed away an imaginary piece of lint off of Eric's shoulder. "_**Bodybuilders are stupid mountains of muscle.**_"

Eric faked an offended look. "_**Are you saying my muscles look bad?**_"

Kendra placed her hands against Eric's chest and slowly smiled.

"_**To me, you are perfect.**_"

Eric grinned and pulled her in for a hug. For a moment, Kendra forgot her worry about Jimmy and gave Eric a kiss on the lips, ignoring the fact that Adams was there handling the wheel. Fortunately, the crewman was polite enough not to look at the embracing Englehorns, but instead keep his eyes on the sea.

When they broke apart, Eric's hand lingered on Kendra's arm. He gave her a little squeeze.

"_**Baxter isn't the only thing troubling you.**_"

"_**No. Jimmy is also worrying me.**_"

"_**What is it this time?**_" Eric said impatiently.

Kendra knew the gruffness in Eric's voice was not completely honest. He always pretended that he didn't give a damn about the kid, but she knew that wasn't true. Maybe her husband had not bonded to their stowaway as much as she or Hayes had, but Kendra knew Eric well enough to know that he had indeed developed _some_ feelings for the boy.

"_**You know, you could always stop pretending that you don't care. No one will stop respecting you as the Captain.**_"

"_**I am not pretending anything. I care about him as much as I care for any member of my crew that is under my responsibility.**_" Eric retorted.

Kendra couldn't help a little smile.

"_**You're telling me that during all these four years you haven't gotten even a little tiny bit attached to Jimmy?**_"

Eric grunted in annoyance.

"_**Not willingly.**_"

Kendra's smile grew wider. "_**So you have, after all.**_"

"_**What is exactly worrying you about the kid, anyway?**_" snapped Eric.

Kendra knew she had pushed Eric far enough; she affected a serious tone, although that was not an act at all. She really was concerned about what had happened between Jimmy and Mr. Brown.

"_**A little while ago, I found Mr. Hayes trying to strangle that Chester Brown fella. I was shocked to see Hayes acting like that, so I asked him why he was so angry. He told me that Mr. Brown had addressed Jimmy by the name James.**_"

Eric looked incredulous. "_**You find my first mate strangling one of the passengers, and the thing that concerns you is which name the man called Jimmy?**_"

"_**You know how protective Hayes is of Jimmy.**_" said Kendra. She rushed on before her husband could reply. "_**Eric, the two of them had not been introduced. He would not have known to call Jimmy that unless he knew Jimmy from before.**_"

"_**Maybe Brown heard someone calling him Jimmy.**_"

"_**Jimmy does not remember even seeing Mr. Brown. As far as we can tell, that is the first time the two of them had seen each other.**_"

"_**That's intriguing, I suppose.**_"

The two Englehorns eyed one another in agitated silence. Finally, Eric adjusted his cap and put his hands on his hips.

"_**That everything?**_"

Kendra exhaled. "_**No.**_"

"_**Then out with it, woman!**_"

Kendra lowered her eyes. Now she had definitely pushed Eric too far. She knew he wasn't angry, just very frustrated. She actually thought it was funny when he called her 'woman'. Eric was not a violent man by nature; tough, often gruff, but he had never raised a hand against her. Never. And he never would. Kendra knew his apology was only moments away.

Eric exhaled explosively. "_**I'm sorry.**_" He rubbed his temples. "_**Just tell me, Kendra, so I know what I am dealing with.**_"

"_**Dollar and his four titans have it in for Jimmy. They threatened him and then tried to follow up on the threat with their fists. They only stopped when Hayes flashed them his pistol.**_"

Eric's face darkened. "_**I'll take care of it.**_" His eyes flicked up to her face as he shook his head. "_**Denham by himself was enough of a risk. Now this Dollar character. Kendra, keep your eyes open. I'll do the same, but two pairs of eyes are better than one. And if I bark at you again like that, you have my permission to cold cock me.**_"

Kendra's green eyes sparkled. "_**I don't need your permission, Captain. If you talk to me like that again, you won't know what hit you.**_"

"_**Woman.**_" Eric muttered. He had a half-smile on his face, but still he grabbed Kendra's upper arm and pulled her close. "_**I'll tolerate no mutiny. Not even from you.**_"

Kendra reached out with both of her hands and casually straightened his collar. "_**Whatever you say, CAPTAIN.**_"

Eric shook his head with exasperation. "_**This is serious.**_"

Kendra's hands rested lightly against Eric's chest. She looked thoughtfully up into his face. "_**I know.**_"

"_**I don't like the idea of working with those two more than you, but like I've already said, it's our only choice.**_"

"_**Unfortunately.**_" Kendra said, and then added, "_**What about Jimmy?**_"

"_**We'll stay alert and send Jimmy up the crow's nest or give him jobs in the hold. With city boy down there, maybe Dollar will think twice. He doesn't strike me as the kind of man who likes witnesses.**_"

Kendra nodded. It was the best Eric could offer.

"_**Don't fret. We have been through worse. We will get out of this voyage with cash in our pockets, and we'll never have to see Dollar or Denham again.**_"

Kendra knew Eric's ability to keep that promise was limited, but when he pulled her in for another hug and one of his strong hands stroked her long black hair tied in a braid, she allowed herself to give way to relief, if only temporarily.

* * *

_Well, this was it, chapter 6. I hope all of you have enjoyed it. I'm sorry if the Eric/Kendra moment somehow disturbed any of you readers... but... well, I hope none of you vommited when you read it. As a bit of trivia note, all the movies mentioned by Hayes and Chester are true, although I didn't see all of them. I just saw The Gold Rush, and The Circus. But personally, I love Charlie Chaplin, and I couldn't help but to slip some references to him in this fanfic. And well, if you hadn't guessed yet, another subplot to this thing is going to be an explanation to where Jimmy came from._

_Now, please, review!_


	7. Chapter 7: Dancing and disappointments

_Hello again. Well, after a slight absence on my part, here am I, publishing another chapter of my fanfic. I don't know how many of you have been waiting for this, but if I get just one review, I think I'll be satisfied enough. Either way, this chapter here features two important things. One, it introduces another crossover concept, this time with Walt Disney's movie 101 Dalmatians (the animated version from 1961). Once again, I hope some of you read this chapter intently enough to find it. Two, it features one moment that apparently some of you have been waiting more eagerly for, but I must give you a fair warning: it won't be as you might have been portraying._

_Now that this is over, let's begin._

**

* * *

Chapter 7 – Dancing and disappointments**

Ann Darrow leaned against the railing of the _Venture_ hoping the deep breaths of salty sea air she was taking would ease the uncomfortable feeling in her stomach. If she was being honest, Ann knew she could not entirely attribute her unsettled stomach to the lamb's brains in walnut sauce she had eaten for lunch. More than Lumpy's strange cooking, it was really the idea of meeting her favorite playwright and one time best friend that was making her stomach churn like the white-capped waves that peeled away from the _Venture_'s knifing prow.

Since when had the prospect of meeting an old friend made her so nervous? Could it be that in some far away corner of her mind she was still hoping that the dream she had as a sixteen year old girl would come true?

_Don't be ridiculous, Ann Darrow! You haven't even seen him for nineteen years. The first thing out of his mouth is _not_ going to be, 'Ann, will you marry me?'._

Ann blushed. Of course he wouldn't say that. All she really hoped for was that he remembered her and would want to become reacquainted as much as she did. Ann just wanted things to go perfectly when they met again. But the problem was, Ann knew, perfection was extremely hard to reach.

The sound of musical instruments and happy voices broke through her thoughts. Determined to get her mind momentarily away from Jack Driscoll for the sake of her sanity, Ann walked toward the sound, and saw a large group of sailors gathered at the _Venture_'s stern. A few were holding various musical instruments, but most of them had mugs firmly grasped in their hands. A row of colorful lamps had been strung up giving the area a cheery look. A huge sailor with leather colored skin was playing the concertina. The others formed a rough circle around him. He was singing in a robust but good voice.

"_I'm lonesome since I crossed the hill _

_And o'er the moorland sedgy _

_Such heavy thoughts my heart do fill_

_Since parting with my Betsey (…)_"

Ann recognized the music sung by the hulking sailor. It was "The Girl I Left Behind Me", an American patriotic song. The sailor's voice swelled to a point that Ann thought surely everyone on the ship could hear. His voice bordered on bellowing, but given the size of the man's chest, she knew he could not help it. Ann smiled at his mighty effort and decided she would stay to hear the rest of it.

"_(…) I seek for one as fair and gay_

_But find none to remind me_

_How sweet the hours I passed away_

_With the girl I left behind me_

_Her golden hair in ringlets fair_

_Her eyes like diamonds shining_

_Her slender waist, her heavenly face,_

_that leaves my heart still pining (…)_"

Ann searched the crowd for a familiar face. She finally noticed Steve Bennett on the edge of the group of cheering sailors. Unlike the seamen, Mr. Bennett had neither a musical instrument nor a mug filled with what Ann's nose detected as rum, but he was clearly there to see the improvised show. She thought it would be nice to talk to him, so she made her way across the gently pitching and heaving deck toward him.

"Good evening, Mr. Bennett."

Steve Bennett saluted her heartily. "Greetings, Miss Darrow. You appear to be feeling better."

Ann looked taken aback.

"I heard lunch did not agree with you." Steve clarified.

"Actually, it was I that did not agree with lunch." She gave a little shudder. "I cannot imagine anyone agreeing with such a bizarre concoction."

Steve gave her a sympathetic little smile behind his bushy mustache. "Let's hope the cook uses his _own_ brains when he's planning the next meal. Another lunch like that, and we'll all be driven to mutiny."

Ann could not help but laugh. "Well, Mr. Bennett, we seem to share the same opinion of the food, but what do you think of the entertainment?"

Steve Bennett folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the railing. "Quite enthusiastic and rather enjoyable."

"I must agree with you again. Watching the sailors perform is much better way to pass the time than the books and plays I brought to read."

"You like show business then? Are you an actress?"

Ann shook her head. "I've never been a professional actress, but when I was young, I enjoyed acting in school plays. The last one I was in, when I was 12 years old, was _Beauty and the Beast._

Steve winked at Ann. "I bet you played Beauty, am I right?"

Ann flushed. "Why, yes, Mr. Bennett."

"I thought so."

"_(…) Ye gods above oh hear my prayer _

_to my beauteous fair to find me_

_And send me safely back again, _

_to the girl I left behind me _

_The vows we made to heav'n above _

_shall ever cheer and bind me_

_In constancy to her I love,_

_The girl I left behind me._"

As the sailor ended his song, all the others applauded enthusiastically. Ann and Steve joined in, although their clapping was not quite as boisterous as the sailors'. The singer bowed to his audience, but one of the sailors in the crowd turned toward Ann. His eyes widened in amazement.

"Betsey landed here!"

Ann felt her cheeks redden as the eyes of all the sailors fastened onto her. Most of them laughed in agreement.

The singer eyed at her critically for a moment and then slapped his thigh and added his laughter to the rest of the sailors'.

"Hey Miss, I think Janusz there is right! You do look like Betsey from the song!"

Ann smiled. "Why, thank you Mr....."

The sailor held out a beefy hand. "Manuel Chaves, Miss."

Ann extended her hand. "Ann Darrow. Pleased to meet you."

She grabbed the sailor's hand, prepared to shake it, but much to her surprise, the sailor bent over so much that he seemed about to break his back and kissed her hand, instead of giving her a handshake.

"Quite a gentleman." She murmured.

Chaves straightened and then grabbed his back, a look of pain screwing up his face. "I'm not as young as I used to be." He complained.

Lumpy, the cook, who had been perched on an over-turned crate, took his cigarette out of his mouth and called out to Chaves. "Oy! Come round the infirmary. I've got just the thing for backaches."

"Yes, you come to infirmary Mr. Chaves, Lumpy have good medicines." Said a small Chinese man.

Ann looked a bit confused. "I thought Lumpy was just the cook."

"Oh no, Miss," the Chinese man said, "Lumpy cook, barber, dentist, veterinary, and doctor."

Ann looked at Lumpy for confirmation. He nodded and winked at her.

"It would seem you are a man of many talents." Ann said.

Lumpy took off his khaki cap and scratched his head.

"Captain couldn't do without me, that's a fact." He said proudly.

Chaves guffawed. "You gotta be kidding me. We all could do without that crap you call cooking. Why you have to put walnuts into everything you make is beyond me."

But before Chaves could continue his criticisms, the Asian sailor spoke up.

"Lumpy's food best food in world!"

Ann's eyes widened at the tone the small Asian man had in his voice when he spoke. He was not speaking like a man in defense of his offended friend; rather, he was telling wholeheartedly that he thought of Lumpy's food as the best in the world. Ann wondered why such bizarre meals were the so great to him.

"Why do you say that, sir?"

"Name is Choy."

"OK, then, Choy, why do you think Lumpy's cooking is the best food in the world?"

A huge smile crinkled up Choy's almond shaped eyes. "It true. Lumpy's food best food in world."

"I know we're best mates, Choy, but you can tell the truth about me food."

"I tell truth." kept Choy, firm as a block of granite. "Your food delicious."

"Unfortunately, Choy's judgment on food is not reliable, Miss." said Chaves. "Chinese eat a lot of things we consider unsavory: frogs, mice, ants, to name a few. Lumpy's food would just be another on the list."

His voice clearly told that he was joking and not being offensive, but even so, Ann winced at his words. She hoped Lumpy never got creative with large rats she knew that lived in the hold of the ship.

"Don't worry, Miss. The first time I ate Lumpy's food, I nearly threw up as well."

"Not nearly." said a blonde sailor.

Chaves turned to the one who had spoken. "Shut up, Bavo!"

Chaves turned back to Ann, and gave her a heartening smile. "I assure you, Miss Darrow, you'll get used to it. I eat Lumpy's food everyday now. And just look how healthy I am!"

In Ann's opinion, health was something that Chaves, in spite of his slight back problem, seemed to have in abundance, judging from his large building and deep voice. The only men on board comparable to him were Dollar's bodyguards.

"That may not be the biggest encouragement, Manuel." said a sailor with tribal-looking tattoos on his face. "If eating Lumpy's food meant becoming such a giant, Miss Darrow would run from it like the devil from the cross!"

Ann had to laugh at the sailor's good natured comment. She used to think that sailors believed having a woman on a ship gave bad luck, but apparently these didn't. And it had logic, now that she thought of it. If their captain had his wife on the ship, probably the crew had stopped believing in such superstition long ago.

Ann looked over the group of men gathered around her glad that they appeared to accept her presence. She scanned the motley group of sailors and it occurred to her that they represented many different countries.

"I am from England, where are all of you from?"

Chaves pointed at the cook. "Lumpy is a countryman of yours, and Choy is from China. Gleb Semenov, the chap over there, is Russian." Chaves gestured toward a lean sailor with pale brown hair, who waved to her politely. "Janusz Morski, the one who said you were Betsey, is Polish. Bavo Flamand, the one who exaggerated the behavior of my stomach, is Belgian. Tristan Baddun, the one fat as an observation balloon over there, is also another of your countrymen. Mario Comollo, that one right there with big-toothed grin is Italian. The tattooed one, Ariki Topeni, is Polynesian. And I, of course, am Portuguese. These, of course, are only some examples."

Ann felt a thrill of excitement. One of Valdemar's compatriots going to Skull Island four hundred years after his expedition. Ann had never imagined such a thing! How exciting. When translating Valdemar's diary, she and her uncle had hired five different translators. Each was given passages in non-sequential order in order to keep the contents of Valdemar's diary secret. After the translators had done their work, Leonard and Ann had joined the pieces together.

"I never knew there was a Portuguese on this ship." she finally managed.

"Alright then." said a large Negro. "Enough talk. Can you sing Miss Darrow? Maybe you could favour us with a tune."

"I don't think so, Mr.…" Ann looked at the man expectantly.

"Hayes." said the sailor. "I'm first mate, and from New York City."

"An American cousin." Ann smiled. "Thank you for the invitation, but I really do not sing that well."

"Can you dance?" asked Chaves.

"I love to dance." Replied Ann.

"Then get Jimmy. He'll make you a good partner."

"Jimmy?" Hayes called out.

There was no answer. Ann watched as the first mate scanned the crowd of sailors, a look of worry starting to dawn in his face. Suddenly, Hayes expression turned to anger. Ann looked where Hayes was staring, and saw Chester Brown, Steve's friend, slipping down the stairs that led to the hold. Hayes marched straight past her and he, too, disappeared into the hold.

* * *

Chester Brown leaned his back against one of the cages, trying his best to recover from the wave of nausea he felt when the foul stench that predominated in the storage space reached his nostrils. Frankly, Chester did not know how the kid would be able to calm down in this place, if he had actually come down here.

Chester also did not know what the kid was doing on a ship whose Captain – and Captain's Lady – seemed specialized in capturing and transporting live animals, an illegal activity.

_Bugger that!_ Chester rebuked himself_. You and Steve have more than enough worries without adding a ship that transports animals to the list. Leave those Englehorns alone._

Chester also did not know how it was possible that the kid was alive. From the scant information he had, the kid should be dead. But there was one thing Chester knew: he had never in his life touched or meant any harm to the kid, although he had his guess about who had done that, and was currently working to get it back to those people in double. In fact, he had not even seen the kid directly before today.

Chester cursed himself for having been stupid by greeting James (or Jimmy, like he seemed to be known among the crew) as if he had known him for years. He indeed had known the kid for years, but only through an endless pile of paper and archives. The thing Chester had to do now was try to convince the kid that he didn't mean any harm. Assuming Chester found the cage with the kid before he fainted, that is.

_Let's get going with it. The faster I solve this matter, the faster I'll get out of here._

* * *

Jimmy still shivered after hours spent in the back cage. Normally, he would have calmed down a long time ago, but the idea that one of those men was on this ship had left him absolutely terrified. From the other three times those men had found him, the last of them having been four years ago right before he came to the _Venture_, Jimmy had barely escaped alive.

Now one of them had found him! He was done for. The voice in the corner of his mind told him that he would be safer if he kept around Mrs. Englehorn or Mr. Hayes, but Jimmy wanted to be an adult man capable of looking after himself, not a little scared kid who asked his parents for protection – although he currently felt as harmless as the latter.

Jimmy was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard someone knocking on his cage. Looking around, he saw Chester Brown at the entrance. His panic increased even more. Without thinking, he backed away from him as much as he could against the metal bars, because the other man cut off his only escape route.

"Get away from me!" whispered Jimmy in a terrified voice.

"Calm down, kid. I'm not going to hurt you."

"You're lying!" snapped Jimmy. "You tried to kill me! You failed three times, but you've come to try again!"

Brown's look became so puzzled that, for a moment, Jimmy allowed himself to wonder if this man actually belonged to the group that had nearly killed him three times.

"How can you say I have tried to kill you? I have never seen you before!"

"Liar!" spat Jimmy. "You are one of them!"

"Them who?" asked Brown. "I don't understand!"

"It's the only way you knew my name!"

A tiny reasonable part of his mind told him that if the man was bent on murder, he wouldn't have wasted so much time with pointless questions. He would have gone straight to the business of killing him. Also, if Brown wanted to kill him, he would have snuck up on Jimmy, not knocked on the cage.

Brown began calmly. "Look, kid, I don't know who the hell you are talking about, but I never saw you before, and I never hurt you before!"

"Then how did you know my name?" Jimmy demanded.

Brown looked thoughtful. "I once knew someone who happened to look very much like you. This kid would be about your age, and was named James. I apparently mistook you for that young man. I'm sorry I scared you so bad. I didn't mean it, alright?"

Brown extended his hand. It seemed he was inviting Jimmy to shake it, but he hesitated. Maybe the man had been telling him all this so that Jimmy would let his guard down. But at the same time, if Brown wanted to kill him, he would have already done it. Jimmy remembered the knives.

He shuddered.

But the man seemed sincere.

Jimmy extended his hand a bit shakily. Instead of roughly pulling him closer to hit him or slam him against the cage's bars, Brown just gave him a firm but perfectly polite handshake. Jimmy's heartbeat finally came back to normal, and he allowed himself a small smile. Brown smiled back and ruffled Jimmy's hair playfully.

"Ah, you're a good kid." he said.

Jimmy was so relieved at knowing that he was safe that for once he didn't mind being called a kid. Brown turned back and hurried out of the hold, his hand in front of his mouth. After a few minutes, Jimmy went after him.

* * *

Hiding in the shadows, Benjamin Hayes shoved his M1911 pistol back into its holster. The _Venture_'s first mate gave a sigh of relief. He was ready to take Brown out if he tried to hurt Jimmy, but somehow, the whole thing of Brown calling Jimmy by his given name had been some kind of misunderstanding. Hayes thought the whole situation had been somewhat awkward, but it was clear enough that if Brown had wanted to hurt Jimmy, he'd have done it. The event had been odd, but at least, it had a happy ending.

_Better like that._ Thought Hayes.

He exited his dark corner, and went back to the small party the crew was organizing.

* * *

While the sailors waited for Hayes to come back with Jimmy, Ann had become engaged in conversation with one of her compatriots, Tristan Baddun. He was showing her the latest picture he had of himself with his family.

"Me wife Sarah." he said as he pointed to the blonde lady some inches taller than him in the photograph who had her arms around his shoulder. "And me two sons, Jasper an' Horace."

"A lovely family you have, Mr. Baddun."

"A swell wife, and two swell kids." he said proudly.

"When did you see them last?" Ann asked.

"'Bout six months ago." replied Baddun. "It's hard bein' away from 'em for so long, but somebody's got to bring in the bacon."

Ann was about to reply when her uncle appeared and greeted her.

"Ann, my dear." said Leonard. He hugged her warmly. "How do you feel?"

"Better. Looks like the rest did me some good."

Ann may have felt better physically, but she had to admit to herself that she still felt very nervous at the prospect of meeting Jack Driscoll. Not wanting to dwell on that, Ann inquired how her uncle's day had gone while she was sleeping off the lamb's brains in her cabin.

"What about you? Was Mr. Denham's filming interesting?"

"Mr. Denham's filming was rather interesting. I learned more about the process of film making. Not as easy as it looks, that's for sure."

Thinking of Jack Driscoll again, Ann said, "Most things seldom are."

Leonard gave her a penetrating look. "Not you usual peppy self, Ann. Is everything alright with you?"

"We can talk later, Uncle."

The sailors started playing some new tune. This time it seemed something from the highlands of Scotland. Ann noticed Jimmy emerging from the hold looking harassed. Hayes followed Jimmy up the stairs and took him by the arm and whispered something to the young man. Jimmy looked up at Ann and then nodded. Jimmy made his way across the deck and stood in front of her.

"Mr. Hayes said you needed a dance partner." He wiped his hands on his pants more out of nervousness than necessity. "Do you want to dance, Miss Darrow?" he finally asked.

"With pleasure." she replied.

Ann and Jimmy walked into the middle of the group to the cheers of all the sailors.

As they danced, Ann could tell that Jimmy was very good. She doubted he had learned the skill on board of the tramp steamer. Throughout their dance, Jimmy never stepped on her foot or made a wrong movement.

Jimmy ended the dance by grabbing her waist and spinning her around in the air. All the sailors applauded as much as they had when Chaves had sung. Chester, Steve, and Leonard also clapped loudly, smiling and whistling.

"You dance really well, Jimmy." Ann complimented.

The kid's cheeks got redder than a tomato. "Thanks, Miss Darrow."

"Where did you learn?"

Jimmy's smiled faded a bit. "Oh, I just picked it up here and there." He said evasively. "Well, I gotta go." Jimmy tipped his cap, turned around, and then scampered off down the deck.

"Odd." Ann murmured to herself.

* * *

Later that evening, the sailors had all gone to their cabins, to their duties, or to enjoy some kind of game in the galley. Chester and Steve had accompanied them. It had been a good evening with a musical show, a dancing show, and some wonderful jokes told by Chester. Ann and Leonard remained on deck looking out at the sea.

"Now that we are alone, maybe you can tell me exactly what has happened, my dear. Somehow I do not believe your melancholy mood can be blamed on Mr. Lumpy's odd cooking." said Leonard.

Ann looked at her uncle. She took a deep breath and then blurted out, "Jack Driscoll is on board of this ship."

Leonard's eyes became as wide as grapefruits. His mouth worked silently several times, before he finally managed to recover his voice.

"Your Jack Driscoll?" he repeated slowly.

Ann nodded.

"What on earth is he doing here?"

"Apparently writing the script for Carl Denham's movie." said Ann.

"And did he remember you?" Leonard said carefully.

"I don't know." said Ann. "I haven't yet talked to him. I haven't even seen him."

Leonard gave a tired sigh. "Ann, my dear, you simply must go and talk with him. You are driving yourself to distraction wondering whether or not he remembers you. If you were as good friends as I remember you two being, there is little chance that he has forgotten you. But you will never know unless you stop debating the matter with yourself and just go knock on the man's door!"

Ann didn't say anything, but she knew her uncle was right. The only way was to talk to him. But she voiced out the main question that tormented her:

"But what if..."

"Ann Caroline Darrow!" snapped Leonard.

Ann winced slightly. Leonard rarely snapped at her, but she had to honest with herself; she deserved it. She was acting like a coward.

Leonard cleared his throat and then patted her lightly on the shoulder. "It will turn out just fine, you'll see. I am going to turn in now, and I suggest that you do the same. Everything will look better tomorrow after a good night's rest."

"I am not sleepy." said Ann. "Not yet, at least."

"As you wish." nodded Leonard. "But try not to stay up too late. And button up your overcoat. I don't wan to see you catching cold."

Ann did as her uncle suggested. Here at sea was comparatively less cold than on land, but it was still enough to justify a buttoned-up overcoat. Ann walked along the ship's deck hoping the brisk wind and exercise would make her tired, but her mind was still too restless to allow sleepiness to come. Her uncle was right. She would have to talk to Jack Driscoll; there was no helping the matter. It was a gift that both of them were on the ship, and Ann knew she could not pass up such a fortunate situation. If Ann didn't do anything, the opportunity would be wasted.

She would find Jack and talk to him on the following day.

Focused on her thoughts as she was, Ann wasn't giving too much attention to where she was going, and just when she was turning a corner, she ran headlong into someone. The collision was strong, and she nearly fell backwards, but she managed to regain her balance. She looked up and saw she had run into a man.

It was a man who looked exactly like the pictures of Jack Driscoll she had seen. Only it wasn't a picture she was looking at, it was the real thing!

"Jack?" asked Ann in a strangled whisper, still barely able to believe her eyes.

Jack Driscoll looked at her, but he didn't give any signs of having recognized her, or even having truly realized her presence. Ann just could not help herself.

"JACK!" she shouted in pure joy. She threw her arms around her friend's neck and hugged him tightly.

To Ann's horror, Jack grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and shoved her away from him.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" He shouted. "Get off of me!"

"But Jack..."

"I don't know you!"

"But I know you, I am a huge fan of your plays, and we used to ..."

Jack cut her off savagely. "Just because you have gone to a few of my plays, does _not_ mean you know me. I have never seen you a day in my life, and no, you can't have a part in my next play. Now leave me alone." He snarled.

Jack Driscoll turned on his heel and strode away toward the stairway to the hold leaving Ann standing on the ship's deck with her mouth hanging open. She sat down on a crate, and buried her face in her hands.

She began sobbing. Two rivulets of tears flowed freely down her cheeks. She couldn't believe it! Since she had seen her best friend Jack Driscoll in a magazine, she had dreamed about meeting him and resuming their friendship. She had even dared to think their friendship might grow into something more.

Ann knew she was a dreamer, but what a fool she had been! What had happened to Jack Driscoll? She didn't recognize any personality trait that he had when he was eighteen years old! The Jack Driscoll who had first welcomed her and her family in America would not have shoved her away or raised his voice at her. The man Ann imagined Jack to be and the real Jack could not be more different.

She remembered the Christmas play both of them had been a part of when she was twelve years old. Jack was two years older, but because the casting had been formed by students of different classes and years, the two had acted together. She had played Beauty, and Jack had played the Beast, and then later the Prince. Since rediscovering him as playwright, she had dreamt of him as the Prince. But she knew the truth now. Jack Driscoll was the Beast.

_Don't cry_, she begged of herself. _Don't you dare keep crying for that awful man. He doesn't even deserve one of your tears._

But the downpour of tears kept on. She couldn't help it.

* * *

_Well, this was it. Excluding the eventually shocking ending with Ann and Jack, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm sorry if any of you thought Jack was too rude in the outcome of this chapter, but well, it would be more realistic like that, I figured. After what the guy has been through, I doubt he'd be in the finest mood ever. But just to leave you a little bit more tranquil, things will get fine between Jack and Ann, I assure you! I just can't say how... for that you'll have to read the next chapters._

_Also, if any of you thought that me including a Venture crewman from my own country was being self-obsessed, I'm sorry. Maybe it even was a little bit. But after killing myself a whole bunch of Portuguese in Valdemar's expedition, and Matthew Costello, author of King Kong: The Island of the Skull, doing the same, I wanted to give someone of my country a chance to go to Skull Island and maybe survive. I hope you can all live with it._

_Now, please, review!_


	8. Chapter 8: New acquaintances

_Hello to all of you, my dear readers. After some time of absence, I have a new chapter to introduce to you. But before, allow me to make some fair warnings. First, some of you seem to be very eager for me to get to Skull Island. I intend to get there eventually, and hopefully I will, but it may take some more time than most of you would wish. I will try to make the journey to it as interesting as I can, in an effort to compensate for the time I take. I hope you enjoy._

_Second, I made some editing in the previous chapters, because there were some things my mind was having a few problems with. Namely, I made small edits chapters 2, 3, 5, 6, and 7. On chapter 3, it was just a small correction, making the Venture's crew to have forty five members (counting with the Captain, Kendra, and Hayes) instead of only forty. On chapter 5, I restructured a bit the journey, because initially, I intended to make the Venture go to Skull Island around South Africa, but due to logical factors, I decided to make it go through the Suez Canal instead. On chapters 2, 6, and 7, it was mainly a correction of Jack's and Ann's ages. Someone (I won't say who, in case that person doesn't wish to be known) told me that Ann and Jack getting separated when both of them were thirteen years old was a little bit of a stretch. And after making some considerations of the matter... I figured that was sort of true. So, I made Ann sixteen years old when her parents died, and Jack two years older than her, and I corrected that in previous chapters. Just thought it was fair to let you know. _

_Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Now that this is over, let's begin._

* * *

**Chapter 8 – New acquaintances**

_Atlantic Ocean, September 27th, 1933_

The sun appeared to be a dim light bulb on the unexpectedly blue and clean sky, making little effect to increase the temperature of the chilly autumn air that enveloped the _Venture_ as it kept straight on its route toward the Strait of Gibraltar.

Kendra Englehorn strode toward the aft deck of the cargo ship. It was the last place on her morning rounds. Once everything checked out, then it was back to the wheelhouse to see Eric.

But once Kendra got to the aft deck, she realized not everything was going well.

The Fokker seaplane her husband had bought was as it should be, chained and close to the crane.

The crewmen who should be on duty were all doing what they were supposed to.

But Ann Darrow wasn't supposed to be sitting on that crate looking like she had been sleeping there the whole night. It was cold at night, and Kendra hoped Ann hadn't taken a chill. As Kendra walked nearer, she noticed Ann had a coat on. Perhaps it had kept her warm enough through the night. Really, though, the question was why she had spent the night slumped on a crate, propped up against the bulwark.

Kendra also wondered why none of the men had woken Ann Darrow up.

Maybe they hadn't seen her. Or maybe they had all thought that she looked too beautiful asleep to be woken up. Kendra smiled a small smile. Men were like that. _Eric_ was like that.

As Kendra walked closer to the sleeping woman, she saw that whatever had made Ann Darrow choose to sleep on the deck had not been good at all. It appeared Ann Darrow had cried herself to sleep.

Kendra always made a point of making sure that the infrequent passengers the tramp steamer received had a trip as pleasant as possible, although she made a point of remaining official and relatively distant. She had learned both from her father and Eric that getting too close with either the crew or the passengers risked a loss of respect, and the price for that could be high. But that didn't stop her from being polite and trying to solve the passengers' problems in the best possible way. At the same time, Kendra sometimes missed the friendship of another woman. Spending the last several years on her husband's tramp steamer had effectively cut her off from any female companionship. She sighed as she looked upon Miss Darrow. The poor thing had fallen asleep on the deck of a tramp steamer. She looked as if she needed a friend about as badly as Kendra did. Maybe risking loss of respect would be a reasonable price for gaining a friend.

Kendra gently shook the sleeping woman by the shoulder.

"Miss Darrow." she called. "Wake up."

The English woman stirred a little bit, groaned, and then opened her eyes. Kendra noticed Miss Darrow's blue eyes were bloodshot and puffy.

Ann Darrow yawned, and then moved her head around, apparently confused at finding herself here.

"What am I doing here?" she asked.

"You've spent the night on the deck."

"Oh, so I have." Ann stretched her arms over her head and yawned.

"What happened?"

Ann affected an air of casual indifference. "I must have fallen asleep while I was stargazing, I suppose. Silly of me, really. I could have fallen overboard."

Kendra dug out a clean handkerchief from one of the pockets in her trench coat. She extended it to Ann who looked it, and then back up to Kendra.

"Go on, take it. It's clean." Kendra prompted.

Ann bit her lip, but finally reached out and took the handkerchief. "Thank you." She murmured.

Kendra watched as the other woman wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

"My husband and I try to see to the comfort of our passengers. Sleeping on a crate on the ship's deck is not comfortable. I must ask again, Miss Darrow, what on earth prompted you to choose such a disagreeable way to pass the evening?"

This time, Ann Darrow did not reply. Instead, she gave fastidious attention to wiping her nose with Kendra's handkerchief.

Kendra rested one of her booted feet on top of Ann's crate and then leaned over and rested one elbow on her raised knee. "I somehow doubt the stars were a sight touching enough for you to cry yourself to sleep over."

Ann Darrow looked up at Kendra, the cause for all her tears still shining clearly from her bright blue eyes. Kendra cursed herself mentally for not thinking twice before throwing out that comment. Her poor attempt at humour had fallen on unappreciative ears.

Instead of replying, Ann Darrow simply folded up the handkerchief and handed it back to Kendra.

"Why don't you keep that, Miss Darrow? In my experience, tears are a guest that visits more than once."

Ann nodded, and then put the handkerchief in the pocket of her rousers.

"Thank you." Her voice had a slight quaver to it, but she continued. "I am so embarrassed; I haven't cried this much in _years_."

"Although I don't know the reason for your tears, I'm very sorry for whatever caused you such pain." Kendra paused for a moment before continuing as gently as she could. "Why have you been crying, if I may ask? I mean, I am sorry if I'm intruding into a personal matter, but when I'm disturbed, it helps if I talk with someone."

Kendra could say that she hadn't faced anything that had left her as upset as Ann Darrow seemed to be, but whenever she had become sad, she had always turned to Eric. Kendra did have to admit that sometimes she wished there was another woman on board. It was not in the nature of men, at least _her_ man, to talk through a problem until thoroughly explored. Bless his heart, Eric tried to conquer her problems and complaints with a bone crushing hug, a kiss, or a throttling of whatever was bothering her. A small smile came to her lips. A female confidant would be most welcome. Kendra hoped she could be that for poor Ann, who seemed genuinely distressed.

"I don't pretend to know what you have been through, but if you need a listening ear, I'm here."

Ann sniffed twice, and then spoke in a voice that sounded as if she was ready to burst into tears again.

"Thank you."

Ann took several deep breaths, as if she was trying to gain some impetus for whatever secret she was about to tell. She finally began speaking very slowly.

"Last night, someone who I once cared about very much was just dreadful to me. He was rude, and angry, and dismissive."

Ann Darrow stopped at that point, took out the handkerchief to mop up the fresh crop of tears that were rolling down her face. Apparently that single bit of information had already been too much for her. Kendra was puzzled. There wasn't anyone who she thought that Ann knew on the _Venture_ besides her uncle. Surely she didn't know any of the crewmembers. Most of the crewmen were gruff sailors with poor manners – which didn't mean they weren't good men – but Kendra highly doubted any of them was among the people Ann Darrow cared the most about.

Kendra had no idea who Miss Darrow could be talking about, when a horrifying thought struck her. Bruce Baxter? Could Ann Darrow have known that awful man years ago, only to meet up with him on the _Venture_?

Almost afraid to hear the answer, Kendra spoke. "Who are you talking about exactly?"

Ann twisted the handkerchief in her lap.

"Jack Driscoll."

Kendra opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Too many questions arose in her mind. Jack Driscoll, after all, was a famous playwright, and Kendra could see him being rude and dismissive to Ann easier than she could see him being someone in whom Ann cared for a great deal. Had they had a romance in the past, before he had become famous? And now was he a stuffed shirt, full of his own self-importance and considering himself too good for Miss Darrow? Poor Ann!

"May I ask you something?"

Ann took the handkerchief away from her face and nodded.

"You said Jack Driscoll is someone you once cared a great deal for. If you don't mind me asking, how can that be possible?"

She stopped, fearing that Ann would think Kendra too nosy. Part of Kendra wouldn't blame her. "I'm just asking so I can understand better what you're feeling." Kendra continued.

Ann took a huge breath, and then slowly let it out. Then she began to speak in a low measured voice.

"When I was ten years old, my family moved from England to the United States. He welcomed us like no other did. He made me feel better in my new school. He always brought me a gift on my birthday. Every year at Christmas, he would bring me an amaryllis that he had grown. When I was sixteen and my parents died, he was there for me."

Ann was briefly overwhelmed and buried her face in the handkerchief again. Her thin shoulders shook. It took a few minutes, but she finally regained her composure.

"We got separated soon after, but he said he would always be my friend. Always. I even dared to dream he would eventually be more than my friend."

Ann looked up at Kendra with watery eyes. "Yesterday, when I greeted him after not having seen him for so long, he shoved me away, told me to get off him, and said he didn't know me!"

Ann collapsed under another wave of tears. Kendra put an arm around Ann Darrow's shoulders, but she didn't know what to say. One thing was clear enough, though, Ann Darrow felt terribly betrayed. Ann and Jack Driscoll had been very close friends. Kendra herself didn't have many close friends, and it had been some time since she had seen any of them. But she still remembered all of them, and she was certain they still remembered her. It was obvious that if someone forgot a close friend, it was because it hadn't been such a two-sided friendship.

Everything Ann Darrow had said about Jack Driscoll, except for the final part, seemed to indicate it had been a two-sided friendship. Perhaps he had been too sick to recognize her. Kendra wouldn't be surprised, considering he had been forced to sleep in the hold. Having to endure the smell permanently could drive anyone mad.

Whatever had happened, Kendra intended to find out. If it had all been a misunderstanding, maybe she could help resolve it.

Ann Darrow was still crying, but her sobs eased slowly as Kendra kept her arm around her shoulders.

"I know these things are easier said than done, but it is not the end of the world." said Kendra.

"It almost seems like it is."

"I know you're shocked, but it could be as simple of a fact that he was in such a horrible mood from being stuck in the hold breathing fifteen years of animal dung, that he simply did not recognize you. I'm sure you look different than you did sixteen years ago, as does he."

Ann gave Kendra a thin, watery smile. "I know I've changed, but he looks much the same to me as he did when he was eighteen. Perhaps a little taller and a bit more filled out, but not much. I was always baking him cakes to try and fatten him up a bit."

Ann put a hand to her stomach. "Speaking of 'fattening up', I believe my stomach has finally decided to be hungry again."

"You'll manage to see things in a brighter perspective if you get a sweeter taste in your mouth. Let's go to the galley and I'll ask Lumpy to serve you a bowl of his porridge with sugar."

Ann's small smile shrank a little bit. "Maybe you're right. A sweet taste may be what I need after this huge gulp of bitterness."

"That's the spirit."

Kendra grabbed Ann Darrow by her hand, and the two got up. But just as they turned on the way to the galley, Carl Denham blocked their path, his camera and tripod hoisted over his shoulder and his actress, Alexandra May, trailing behind him. He set the filming devices down, and then started checking over them with an almost obsessive dedication.

Not for the first time, a wave of despite washed over her as she looked at the filmmaker and the way how he checked over the state of the camera. It was clear the man was in this business because he loved it, and not because of what he could gain, but he was always willing to get what he wanted – at any price. Often, the people around him paid an un-bargained for price. The last time Denham had been on the _Venture_, his cameraman had been the one who suffered the most, and Kendra recalled it far too well. There were scant moments when Denham forgot his obsession and revealed hints of humanity, but she had only watched such events when something serious enough to really disturb him happened. And even then, as soon as he let the shock sink down enough, he returned to his old obsessive self.

Carl Denham started checking the focus of the camera, and only then he seemed to notice Ann and Kendra in front of him.

"Oh, good morning." he greeted with a dismissive gesture and voice that did not mean what he said at all. "Now if you please, get out of the way, I have a camera to set up!"

"We need to go through there to go to the galley." Said Kendra.

"Can't you go through the other side?"

"And can't you just move your camera for a little bit so we can pass?"

Denham scowled, but at this moment he didn't seem willing to argue a lot, because he moved the camera out of her way and shouted:

"Alright, pass through here, but do it fast!"

"Still as much of a selfish bastard, I see." replied Kendra in an icy voice.

"Still getting in the way as much as ever, eh?" returned Denham. "And now you have another woman with you so you can get in the way twice as much."

Kendra clenched her jaw for just a moment after Denham's comment, but she was not in the mood to get into an argument with him. For now, she would take Ann Darrow to the galley and then try to figure out what exactly had happened in the Jack Driscoll matter. And for that, she had to talk to him.

But one thing had become plainly obvious in this short moment. Denham had not changed at all from the other two times she and Eric had travelled with him.

And that knowledge made her stomach go tight with apprehension.

* * *

Ann followed Kendra to the galley, she was silently grateful to the woman for being the proverbial shoulder to cry on. After speaking to the captain's wife, things did not seem quite as bleak. They rounded a corner and Ann saw Jimmy coiling ropes.

"Good morning, Jimmy." said Kendra.

"G'morning, Mrs. Englehorn, Miss Darrow." Jimmy tipped his cap and then smiled.

Kendra placed a hand on Jimmy's arm. "I spoke with Mr. Hayes about Chester Brown. Is everything alright?"

"It was just a small misunderstanding."

Kendra's eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"

Jimmy shrugged. "Mr. Brown thought I was someone he knew that had my name."

"Are you sure that was all it was?"

"Kinda weird, but I believe him." said Jimmy.

It looked to Ann that Kendra was weighing what Jimmy had said. After a few moments, Kendra seemed to relent.

"That's good. Mr. Hayes was quite worried."

Then, Ann saw Kendra leaning over Jimmy. She didn't see what Kendra was doing, but she distinctively heard Jimmy's annoyed protest.

"Hey, I'm not a kid! I don't need you to check behind my ears!"

Ann grinned.

"Not in front of Miss Darrow. It's embarrassing!" He protested.

"Wouldn't it be more embarrassing if Miss Darrow saw you with dirty ears?" asked Kendra. "When you get a girl, you need to always wash behind your ears. Girls don't like boys who don't wash behind their ears!"

"Does Captain Englehorn wash behind his ears?"

"Don't be cheeky." countered Kendra.

Jimmy changed tact. "Have I ever said I want a girl?"

Kendra flashed a knowing smile. "Someday you'll want one, Jimmy, believe me."

After her answer, Kendra gave Jimmy a hug. In Ann's eyes, it was like a mother hugging her son to wish him a good day. But Jimmy did not hug back with nearly half the enthusiasm of his 'mother', and Ann saw the ashamed look in his eyes.

"Alright, Jimmy, now run along to your work." said Kendra when they separated "Today you are to be on the crow's nest."

Looking absolutely relieved that the hugs and hygienic inspections had stopped, Jimmy waved Ann goodbye and ran away to do his job. Ann and Kendra kept on their way to the galley.

"Jimmy seems like a sweet kid." said Ann.

"He is. Sweet and spice. He's the closest thing I have to a son."

_There's more to that_, thought Ann.

"Well, here we are." said Kendra when they reached the galley door. She pushed the door open and walked in, quickly taking note of who was in the room.

"Good morning, Mrs. Englehorn." said Lumpy.

"Good morning, Mrs. Englehorn." echoed a plump man wearing a cap, glasses, and bow tie.

Ann recognized him as part of Carl Denham's filming crew. He sat a table with the other two men of Denham's crew, who only greeted Mrs. Englehorn with a nod. The stubby man seemed to be tending to something that Ann didn't see from her place. The other two were eating breakfast.

"Lumpy, get Miss Darrow some porridge." she heard Mrs. Englehorn say to the cook in authoritative voice.

"Yes, Ma'am." replied the cook.

Ann sat down at a table close to table where Denham's crew was sitting. Kendra put the bowl of porridge in front of her. She looked down preparing to wince, but miracle of miracles, it looked completely edible.

Ann looked up at Kendra. "Thank you." she said. "For everything."

Kendra smiled back at Ann.

"Have you been introduced to Denham's fine filming crew, Ann?"

Ann shook her head. Hearing Denham calling one of his employees by name couldn't be called an introduction, for sure. But she wasn't sure she'd like to meet the members of Denham's filming crew, if they were like their boss.

Kendra apparently decided to show some manners and make the introductions.

Kendra indicated to a tall, thin, dark headed man with glasses. "This is Mr. Michael Palmer, Denham's sound recordist." Kendra then motioned toward the stubby man with the bow tie. "This is Mr. Herbert Cooper, Denham's cameraman. And this," she gestured to a shorter young man with glasses, "is Mr. Preston Hardwick, Denham's assistant."

In a way, Ann already knew who he was, as she had heard Denham speaking to him already.

Kendra put her hands on Ann's shoulders. "This is Miss Ann Darrow."

Suddenly, Ann gasped in amazement when she noticed what Herbert Cooper was doing exactly. He was using an oilcan to apply oil on the knee of an artificial leg. From the looks of the prosthetic, she judged the man's real leg had been lost from mid-thigh to below, at least.

"It's my spare." explained Mr. Cooper. "Needs an overhaul."

He clapped the oilcan against his right leg. The action allowed Ann to see that his left leg had been the lost one.

"Sea lion in Año Nuevo Island." he explained.

Ann felt as if a fist was clenching her heart. Looking aside, she saw that Kendra did not look surprised at all, but she narrowed her eyes in what seemed like pain and anger at the same time, as if the event also brought her unpleasant memories.

Having noticed Ann's inquiring look, Kendra explained.

"It was during the last time Denham travelled on the _Venture_. Three years ago. We went to Ãno Nuevo Island, off the coast of California; Denham decided to film Steller sea lions in mating season against the advice of experts. Some over-territorial bulls came…" Kendra stopped for a moment, her expression looking like she had taken a gulp of vinegar. "…and Mr. Cooper's leg was bitten off."

Ann gasped. "That's a tragedy!"

"Indeed." nodded Mr. Cooper. Then, he added in outraged voice. "Mr. Denham should have won an award for that picture! Best footage we ever shot!"

"But, your leg." Ann stammered.

"Part of my job." said the cameraman. "You have to expect sacrifice and loss if you want to reach grandness. Besides, pain is temporary, film is forever."

Ann felt appalled.

"Zip it, Herb!" said Mr. Palmer. "You're scaring Miss Darrow."

Herb strapped his artificial leg back on.

"I gotta go anyway." he said. "You two come to meet us when you've finished."

Herb got up wearily, and limped out of the galley.

"That Denham is even worse than I thought!" Ann managed to exclaim.

"Don't speak about him like that." said the sound recordist. "Mr. Denham is the reason why my wife and children – and also Herb's – have food on the table and a bed to sleep in."

Palmer paused to swallow a spoonful of porridge.

"But I admit he sometimes gets too entranced with his filmmaking."

Well, at least the sound operator seemed to have his head more on its place than the cameraman, Ann thought.

"And what do you think about your boss, Preston?" she asked the young man.

Preston seemed uncomfortable when she spoke to him, almost as if he hoped not to be noticed.

"I haven't worked with him since he started his filmmaker career ten years ago, like Mike and Herb have." he said. "I have been with him only for about four years. But he is decent enough, even if a bit quick tempered. And filmmaking can be dangerous."

Preston gave a deep sigh, adding, "I can't go back now. I choose this career against my parents' will."

His words were enough for Ann to know the kid felt lost in the middle of the group.

And after what Jack Driscoll had done to her, she, too felt somewhat lost.

* * *

_Well, this is it. I hope you enjoyed it. On a final note, the scene with Herb showing Ann his prosthetic leg is adapted from a scene in the original 1996 draft of Peter Jackson's King Kong and a similar deleted scene from the 2005 version, included both in the Deluxe Extended Edition and the novelization of the 2005 movie by Christopher Golden. Those of you who have seen the scene included in the Deluxe Extended Edition should remember Herb said he actually lost his leg in Nova Scotia, but I made some changes in that point because, as much as I researched, I didn't find anything saying that there were sea lions in Nova Scotia._

_I hope I made a nice job on this chapter, although probably most of you are still waiting for Ann and Jack to make up. That will come eventually. Because I'm trying to make a nice setting up for the scenario to come, it may take some time, but it will come! I promise!_

_Well, I know you may be sick of reading this... but please, review! _


	9. Chapter 9: Limits of self control

_My greetings to all of you, my dear readers. Thank you very much to all those who have been keeping up with my story so far and delivering reviews, because they make my day. I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as possible, but, without meaning to seem stuck up, I have a certain feeling on how you readers, at least those belonging to the category of Englehorn fangirls, will enjoy at least a certain moment in this chapter. And about Jack and Ann... well, I didn't forget that part as well. We will be hearing more from that plot in this chapter._

_Now that this is over, let's begin._

* * *

**Chapter 9 – Limits of self-control**

Jack Driscoll hunched over the old table where his borrowed typewriter was sitting. The constant swaying of the ship and the stench floating on the hold kept an iron grip on him, one that had only been further strengthened by his huge lack of sleep. Jack desperately wanted to fall into the country of the dreams, if only to temporarily escape from his real and dreadful situation, but the same factors that made him sick to the core and the cot where he laid down at night contributed to keep him awake. Jack couldn't tell precisely, but judging from his Rolex Oyster Watch, he had not slept for more than six hours since he arrived on the _Venture_.

In addition to not sleeping, Jack hadn't eaten anything, either. Jack was seriously considering going to the cook and asking him for a special menu: dry bread and water. It was something eaten in jail, but Jack felt as if he was under arrest, something only reinforced by the fact he slept in a cage. The sentence could be shorter than that of criminals, but it was certainly hellish.

_How will I get out of this alive?_

Jack turned his eyes back to the typewriter. No matter how bad he felt, he had to make an effort to keep going on with the script, although he doubted Carl had started the real shooting already. If he hadn't something to show soon, then Carl would just ratchet up his verbal haranguing. And Carl was certainly a master at that.

Jack made what felt to him like a superhuman effort to regain enough focus to distinguish the typewriter keys. He lifted his hand to start the typing of the next scene.

"Mr. Driscoll?" said a voice.

Jack's hand froze in mid-air. He recognized the voice before seeing its owner. The same woman who had been down here to apologize for the lack of cabins peered into his cage. When she had shown up the first time, Jack had felt she was being sincere, even if somewhat amused by his situation. But what had really caused an impression on him was the unmistakable air of command that emanated from her when she talked to the Chinese crewman – Choy, if he recalled the name properly. For some reason, a commanding woman seemed like a twist of nature – in the worst possible way. Choy had said she was the Captain's wife, and it had been obvious to Jack that she helped her husband in running the tramp steamer. The off-white captain cap had been helpful, but the way how she gave the order to Choy about locking the chloroform had made her authority clear and undeniable.

Even worse was the fact that she was undeniably feminine. Although she wore men's clothes, she was definitely a woman – and a very beautiful one, with her deeply tanned skin, rich black hair, and green eyes. Not that Jack was considering any kind of involvement with her; she was married, and Jack would never even consider such a dalliance.

"Good morning, Mrs. Captain."

The woman gave him a puzzled look.

"Mr. Choy said you were the Captain's wife, and I don't know your name, so that's the only thing I figured I could call you."

She smiled. "It's understandable." she said. "But for future reference, my name is Kendra Englehorn."

"And what is the reason for your visit down here, Mrs. Englehorn?"

"I would like to have a word with you." she said.

Jack sighed deeply. "I'm right in the middle of writing, but I think I can spare enough time for you." said Jack.

Kendra looked amused. "Why, thank you, Mr. Driscoll. I'm busy, too, so I'll get right to the point."

Jack pointed to his cot. "You can sit down there. But I warn you, that thing is hard."

Kendra didn't seem to mind, as she sat down on the cot. Jack rotated on his crate, and looked toward her.

"What can I do for you, then?" he asked.

Kendra clasped her hands together and started rubbing her thumbs against each other.

"Well, Mr. Driscoll, it is sort of complicated to explain. It's not really what you can do for me; it's more what you did to someone."

"I did something to someone? How can that be? I've barely left this cage since I boarded this ship. The only people that I remember to have even remotely interacted with are Choy, Jimmy, Hayes, Carl, and you, Mrs. Englehorn."

"Another passenger had a very uncomfortable experience with you. She felt you were abusive…"

Jack began to protest, but Kendra help up a staying hand and continued.

"Abusive, Mr. Driscoll, and she is very upset about it. I feel it is my duty as the captain's wife to help smooth things over. Are you sure you do not remember meeting anyone else?"

Jack opened his mouth to tell it was certainly a lie, but suddenly, his tongue was held back.

Now that he thought of it, he did remember the mad woman who had thrown her arms around him, coming up with something about being a big fan of his work. It was probably part of some plot of hers to get a leading role on one of his next plays.

Jack had often suspected that was the reason a lot of the women that approached him chose his company. Getting a role in one of his plays, or the spotlight centered on them if only for a night, was a very tempting offer that many up and coming actresses simply could not pass up. _Damn fame. _

Even then, Jack swore he always felt some sort of sickness behind their smiles as they clung to his arm and waved to the photographers and journalists.

"I do remember the mad woman who threw her arms around me and started blabbing some fantasy about knowing me and being a big fan of mine." said Jack.

Much to his surprise, Kendra seemed almost scandalized when she heard his response.

"I'm sorry if I treated her too roughly." said Jack. "Being down here is starting to take its toll on me. I couldn't help it at the moment."

Now that the complete memory returned to him, he supposed he had been nearly abusive when he shoved her away and turned her down so savagely.

And only then, Jack remembered another possible problem. Maybe the mad woman, as a revenge for his flat refusal, would start spreading among New York gossips how Jack Driscoll was an uncivilized barbarian.

That would be a blow to his career and work. No journalist would care how much truth there was in her statements. The newspapers craved that kind of salacious story without caring whether they were true or not, as long as it allowed newspapers and money to slide into their pockets. The fact that most people were too busy trying to scrap for their daily bread had not been a weakening factor to the tendency of wanting to meddle in the lives of others.

Jack didn't mind losing the fame, but he did mind losing his reputation, not to mention the money he would lose if he became less successful.

Fortunately, his words seemed to sooth Kendra.

"You're right." she said. Her tone was unexpectedly comprehensive. "Having to sleep down here would drive anyone wild."

Then, she added in a cautious and oddly eager voice:

"But don't you remember her? Haven't you _recognized_ her?"

"I have barely looked at her!" said Jack almost desperately.

His words were true in more than one meaning. He had barely seen the woman, because both his seasickness and the lack of light on that spot of the ship reduced his sight. He also hadn't been exactly interested to look at her face.

"And that's all you have to say about it?" asked Kendra.

"I'm afraid it is, Mrs. Englehorn." said Jack.

He was becoming annoyed. All of this talk was wasting too much time for his taste. Ever the dedicated writer, he had to keep working on Carl's script.

Kendra grew quiet. He didn't know why. In fact, both Kendra's questions and the present situation were becoming confusing.

"What's going on? There's something you aren't telling me."

"What is going on, Mr. Driscoll, is that Miss Ann Darrow seems to remember her childhood friends much better than you."

The name Ann Darrow stirred something in his memory. Comprehension suddenly flooded his brain. It must have showed on his face because smashing relief broke over Mrs. Englehorn's face.

"Did you just say 'Ann Darrow'?" He said faintly.

Smiling, she replied, "I did, Mr. Driscoll."

Jack froze. Ann Darrow. He did remember Ann Darrow, the sweet girl from England he had helped get settled in America. Suddenly, many more things came to his mind. He remembered the moments they spent together in Central Park. He remembered the pen she had bought him as a birthday gift, shortly after he had won the essay contest. He remembered saying her goodbye after her parents had died when she had to leave with some uncle she had barely seen before and happened to be her last surviving relative. She had looked heartbroken when the two had said goodbye for the last time.

And only then, he fully realized what he had done last night. He had been greeted by his best childhood friend he ever had, and had treated her more savagely than he had ever treated anyone.

That couldn't be! That just couldn't be! There had to be another Ann Darrow. His mind couldn't accept the possibility of having been so barbaric to the Ann Darrow he knew.

"Does she have an uncle named…" Jack paused for a moment to recall the name of Ann's uncle, "…Leonard Darrow?"

Kendra nodded.

Jack sunk down on his crate, feeling as if his heart were made of lead and had fallen straight down to his feet.

Memories of some of the things Ann Darrow had done for him rushed through his mind. He remembered how, when he turned sixteen, she arranged a surprise birthday party for him. He remembered once, not more than about four months after they met, when he had, somehow, lost his father's expensive pocket watch, and Ann had helped him to look for it until they found it – which fortunately, they had. Worst of all, he also remembered that she had been the one who encouraged him to enter Mrs. Melville's writing challenge. If not for Ann Darrow, he may not be where he was today.

After everything she had done for him, and after all the friendship she had given him, he had treated her far worse than if she was a socialite using him as a mean for attention. It was far worse than the idea of a mad woman throwing his career on the mud by blabbing his rudeness to the press.

Jack leaned his elbows on the old table and grabbed two fistfuls of his hair.

"What have I done?" he moaned.

"Mr. Driscoll!"

Jack jumped. He had almost forgotten Kendra was there.

He turned around to face her.

"That is not the correct question." she told him. "The correct question is what you can do now." She paused for a moment. "And that is what I'd like you to answer."

_Maybe chuck myself overboard and swim back to New York._ Thought Jack. _If there was any chance I could make it._

That, unfortunately, was not an option. He knew the correct thing to do was to apologize, but he didn't know how he could ever look into Ann Darrow's eyes again. Mainly considering she was certainly beyond angry with him. And he remembered the last time he had seen Ann Darrow _really_ angry.

The thought almost brought a shudder out of him, but he managed to force it down, even if barely.

"Well, Mr. Driscoll?" insisted Kendra.

Jack again snapped out of his thoughts. And then, another question was brought to his mind.

"If you don't mind me asking, why are you so interested?"

"I am just trying to help you and Miss Darrow solve your misunderstanding." said Kendra. "After all, she looked heartbroken when she told what you had done."

From the tone in Kendra's voice, Jack guessed that maybe her kind of help wasn't exactly the kind delivered out of formality, but out of genuine concern, and not just for a passenger.

He didn't really know what to say, but he tried to give the most sincere answer possible.

"I'll just think of how I can apologize to her."

Kendra looked somewhat disappointed, but not surprised.

"Very well then." she said.

Then she got up and moved out of the cage. Jack followed her with his eyes until she disappeared, and then turned back to the typewriter. He knew he had to write some scenes for the movie, but Kendra's visit had erased any will he had to do so.

And then, for some reason, he wondered why he was still concerned with keeping Carl satisfied, when, in a last analysis, his problem with Ann Darrow was just another nice mess Carl had gotten him into.

* * *

Kendra climbed the row of stairs that lead outside the hold with strong agile movements, making her way back into the wheelhouse. When she had some time on her hands again, she would go to Ann and tell her about the conversation with Jack Driscoll. But right now, the person she really had to see was Eric. After all, she should have returned from her round long before, and Eric would certainly be concerned.

Her mind travelled back to Jack Driscoll, and the conversation she had with him. In a way, it had not gone as bad it could, but she had hoped it would have gone better. But maybe that would be asking for too much. At least Jack Driscoll seemed regretful for having been rude and even had remembered who Ann Darrow was, although his memory needed some more prodding than Kendra would have liked.

Being forced to sleep and work in the hold with the hellish smell of animal dung, it was admirable Jack Driscoll had managed to keep some mental sanity, mainly considering he appeared to suffer from seasickness.

Kendra had hoped, for Ann's sake, that after he knew what he had done, Jack Driscoll would stand up straight, be determined to apologize Ann, and then try to mend the mistake he made. Kendra doubted just that would be enough to gain Ann Darrow's forgiveness, but it would be a start.

But he had sounded a bit too apprehensive and indecisive for Kendra's taste, and although he had said he would think of what to do, Kendra hadn't exactly liked his lack of determination.

Suddenly, as she moved along the railing, Bruce Baxter stepped out of one of the doors that lead to the inside of the ship. About him, Kendra would have loved he wasn't determined at all, at least when it came to him laying his hands on her.

Baxter did not seem to be looking specifically for her, but he clearly didn't mind that he had found her, as when he saw her, the actor broke into an arrogant smile and stood in front of her, blocking her path along the railing.

"Good morning, my dear."

Kendra made no effort to hide her annoyance as she stopped in her tracks. For a brief moment, she considered the possibility of turning around and going to the wheelhouse through another way, but the idea was shoved off her mind as soon as it came. She wouldn't let Baxter have an effect on her. The worse was that he was starting to have a bit of a bad effect on her without her permission.

"Good morning, Mr. Baxter." she said, trying to keep a polite voice and a neutral look.

Baxter walked toward her.

"And it became even better from the moment you appeared." he kept his smile as he walked toward her.

Kendra stayed where she was, her look cold and stony.

"I have work to do, Mr. Baxter." she said. "So, if you'd be so kind, get out of my way."

Baxter stopped some steps away from her, and leaned against the wall, cutting off her way along the railing.

"Don't be so rough." he said. "It's not a big deal if you spend some of your time with me."

Kendra was starting to get annoyed with the actor, but she tried to keep herself calm.

"Yes, it is a big deal if I spend some of my time with you, because unlike you, I have work to do." she hissed. "And either way, I don't see _why_ I'd want to do such a thing. So, if you'd be so kind, step aside. Please." she forced herself to add.

Baxter just kept his absolutely irritating grin.

"Baxter, get out of my way immediately." Kendra repeated.

Baxter didn't budge.

Without saying anything, Kendra took one hand to Baxter's chest and shoved him against the wall, not with enough strength to hurt, but firmly enough to get him out of her way. If politeness wouldn't teach him to acquiesce to others' requests, brute strength was the only language she had in mind.

Kendra moved past him, but before she could get far enough, the actor extended his hand and grabbed her by her right wrist.

Baxter pulled her toward him, moving his hand toward her left forearm in the process.

"That was rude of you, my dear." he said, still with that irritating smile on his face.

Kendra forced herself to keep as calm as she could.

"What part of me being married to the Captain did you fail to understand?" she insisted.

"I don't fail to understand anything." said Baxter. "But your husband doesn't need to know."

Kendra was starting to get inclined toward the idea of sending Bruce Baxter's smile down his throat, broken in pieces.

"I'd never betray my husband."

"Honey, you're just making yourself difficult." Baxter insisted. "And don't try to disguise, I know it."

Baxter moved even closer to her.

"No sane woman would choose a mangy sailor when she could have me." he said.

Kendra scoffed.

"My real guess is that no sane woman would choose you when there are millions of free men out there in the world."

Baxter tried to hook his free arm around her, but she slapped his hand away. Much more of this, and her anger would not be contained.

"C'mon, I know you're already sighing for me. You're just hiding it."

"Why should I sigh for you? I'm married, and I'm very happy with my husband. If you don't let go of me, you'll be very sorry."

Baxter hooked his free arm around her waist and pulled her toward him.

"Don't be so aggressive, it doesn't suit you." he said. "Women aren't made to be aggressive. Women are made to be damsels in distress."

_That's what you wanted!_ She thought. _But I guess it's time you learn that women can look after themselves when they have to._

"Baxter, you're playing with fire. If you don't let go of me soon, you'll get burned. I give you to the count of three to release me."

Baxter pulled her slightly toward him.

"One…"

"Quit making yourself difficult, broad. I know you've already fallen for me."

"Two…"

Baxter moved his left hand higher, to her back.

"Three."

Kendra lifted her right knee.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?"

Kendra's heart jumped at who she saw beyond Baxter's shoulder. Baxter paralyzed instantly, then he turned around.

Eric was standing there, his fists clenched, and looking none too happy at seeing Bruce 'Dame Tamer' Baxter laying his hands on his wife. Kendra was certain his anger wasn't directed at her, but Eric looked dreadfully intimidating when he was angry.

Baxter, just like the average man that met Eric's angry look, hadn't yet broken out of his temporary paralysis, so Kendra used that time to jerk free from him. He didn't even react. Kendra knew from his slight shaking that he wanted to run away, but Eric's intimidating look kept him frozen.

As soon as she broke away from him, Eric started moving toward Bruce with firm and decisive steps. Baxter briefly turned, prepared to run away, but Eric sped up, grabbed him by his elbow, and turned him around.

"What do you think you were doing, Baxter?" Eric said in barely controlled anger right into the actor's face. He let go of Baxter's elbow, but his other hand shifted to the collar of the movie star's shirt.

"Eric…"

Eric turned his eyes to her. Kendra held his gaze.

"Don't you dare to protect him."

"_**You're not insinuating that I am a willing participant?**_" she asked in disbelief. "_**Or that I even liked it?**_"

Eric's look softened slightly for just a moment.

"_**Of course I'm not.**_"

Kendra gave her husband a curt nod, and then looked back at Baxter.

He looked puzzled at their temporary exchange from English to German, but he also looked nervous. Kendra couldn't really blame him; after all, as much as Baxter knew, they could be saying anything. Normally she and Eric spoke English in front of other people, when they wanted to make sure everyone got the message across, but their short reverting to German seemed to make Baxter to think he had an important gap in his understanding.

Baxter cleared his throat. "Calm down, Englehorn." said Baxter. "I wasn't doing anything wrong. I was just admiring your wife's astounding beauty."

Eric's lips compressed, and a vein throbbed at his temple.

"You admire with your eyes, not with your hands."

His tone added that as much as he was concerned, he wouldn't allow anyone to even look at Kendra in that way, but Kendra knew Eric had grudgingly accepted that he couldn't control the minds of the crewmen or the passengers, and as just as they didn't go beyond the occasional glance, he kept quiet, as much as he could dislike the idea.

"I was just getting a closer appreciation, Englehorn." said Baxter.

Eric's grip on the collar of Baxter's shirt became tighter.

"She's my wife." he said. "I am the only one who can get such close appreciation."

Baxter tried to compose an innocent look.

"Come on, you don't need to be such a brute! You should consider it as a compliment to your wife."

"That's exactly the point." said Eric. "She's _my_ wife."

"You shouldn't be so selfish, Englehorn." said Baxter.

Eric pulled Baxter closer to him.

"And you should shut up right now if you want to preserve your health."

Kendra cursed under her breath. She could see straight where this was going. Eric kept as calm as he could, like a good Captain should do, but if Baxter kept putting more wood on the fire, Eric would soon snap. Kendra figured it was better to pour some water on.

"Eric, you don't need to throw him overboard."

Baxter's look grew terrified, but Eric's became more interested.

"Thank you for the idea." he smirked.

Baxter seemed to have lost capability of speech, his eyes growing wider with terror.

Eric opened his mouth to answer, but before he could do so, a voice rang out.

"Englehorn, let go of my lead actor immediately!"

Kendra groaned when she recognized the voice.

_Just the one who was missing!_ She thought.

Looking behind Eric, Kendra saw Carl Denham and Herb looking at Eric. Denham didn't look pleased at all when he saw Bruce Baxter in Eric's grip. One of his hands was on his waist, the other gestured into the air.

"Englehorn, let go of Bruce right now! I'll start shooting soon, and I can't have him injured! It'll stop shooting for days!"

"I will let go of your actor as soon as I explain him that he has to keep his hands to himself if he doesn't want trouble." Said Eric. His tone implied he didn't mind how bashed Baxter could be, or of how Denham's film could be affected.

Denham seemed about to argue, but then, for some reason, and much to Kendra's surprise, he nodded in acquiescence.

"Alright then, if it has to be. I tried to explain to Bruce that he had to behave, but maybe you can get the message across better than me."

Denham added louder: "But for Christ's sake, limit yourself to talking, alright?"

Eric just turned his blazing blue eyes back to Baxter.

"Now listen very carefully, Baxter, because I will not repeat this. If I catch you laying your hands on my wife again, there won't be enough of you left for you to be recognized."

Eric's tone said it was a statement of a fact, not a threat. But Baxter still seemed undisturbed.

"Geez, she must be really good in bed if you want her all to yourself. But for that, you didn't need to marry her, you know?"

Kendra felt utter shock rising within her. Did the man have a death wish?

The actor looked at her and continued, as if he simply could not stop the words coming out of his mouth. "The only reason the German would have to keep you around is because you have to be _very_ good in bed. But you'll lose that skill one day. And when that happens, he'll treat you like trash. After all, skills in bed are the only use someone would have to a filthy Jew like you."

Kendra froze. She was so taken aback by Baxter's insult that she didn't even know how to react. Where on earth had that come from? She wasn't Jewish, as far as she knew, anyway.

Swiftly, and without another word, Eric lifted Bruce off of his feet and _threw_ him. Baxter flew through the air, not over the railing, but straight into Carl Denham, catching him in the chest. Carl jerked backwards and knocked Herb to the floor as well. All three men lay on the deck in a heap of tangled limbs.

"Control your actor, Denham, or he spends the rest of the voyage in a baboon cage in the hold." Englehorn hissed.

The relief Kendra felt was indescribable. She thanked God that Eric had managed to control himself. When Eric gave full way to his anger, there was serious damage. The mutinous crewman who set the fire on the hold and tried to kill Kendra in a fit of rage after failing in destroying the ship had nearly been beaten to death by Eric.

Kendra's husband turned on his heel and stalked away. They would have words later, of that she was sure.

* * *

Carl Denham finally managed to shove Bruce off him, far too annoyed with both his lead actor and both of the Englehorns.

Why the hell couldn't Bruce just listen to wisely delivered advice and keep his hands off Kendra Englehorn?

Why the hell did Englehorn have to be such a protective husband?

Why the hell about half of what any of the Englehorns did when he travelled with them angered him so much? Was it coincidence? Or did they enjoy it?

Well, annoying as they could be, Carl had to recognize the advantages of travelling with them. Nobody knew about how to deal with animals better. No one outside the military kept more guns on a ship than they did. And annoying as they were, they obviously felt responsible for his safety when he travelled with them, and kept their duty of taking good care of their passengers, even if they didn't like said passengers. After all, it was thanks to them he still had Herb. If they had not come to the rescue when they did and revealed that hell of a good aim they had with their rifles, Herb would have been killed by those sea lions. And Carl would always be unwillingly and resentfully grateful to them for saving his cameraman's life.

Herb had been with him since the beginning. Carl was unable to imagine what to do if he lost him. Sometimes, he wondered if he gave Herb even a tenth of the credit he deserved.

When Carl finally got back on his feet, he realized that Bruce Baxter did not have any injury that would be seen by the camera. Maybe he got some bruises for the next days, but it was just a matter of focusing on a scene that didn't involve much moving around. The ideal would be a totally uninjured Bruce, but in the end a scratch or two had never hurt anybody. Carl just hoped the man had learned his lesson. It could have been better, but it could also have been much worse. And in a way, even Carl admitted that Bruce was asking for it, not as much for actually laying his hands on Kendra, but more for the insults he had thrown.

Carl and Herb helped Bruce to get up.

"See what you've done, Bruce? I told you neither of the Englehorns would tolerate such an attitude."

Bruce looked concerned. "Would he really throw me overboard?"

"I heard he did it once. And he can do it a second time. And if you lay your hands on Mrs. Englehorn again, or if you throw any of those insults at her, the consequences will be much worse! Get it?"

Bruce nodded quickly, still with an uneasy look on his face, as if he was still afraid of being pitched overboard.

"Now, forget those blasted Englehorns, and let's just get back to Alexandra and start shooting, we don't have the whole day to stand here!"

Bruce grumbled and began to smooth down his clothes.

"What does Englehorn have that I don't have, after all?"

Carl Denham slapped his hand against his forehead.

* * *

_Well, my dear readers, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, but before I go, there are some final words I have for you. First, I'm sorry for having Jack saying that a commanding woman is a twist of nature in the worst possible way, but this is 1933, after all. That kind of thing wasn't by far as accepted back then as it is today. I'__m deeply sorry if I angered any of you, but I'm only trying to be coherent with the period this is set on. _

_And about Jack and Ann... I hope that now you readers have a bit more of faith on Jack after this chapter._

_I hope none of you got too sorry for Bruce Baxter when Englehorn threw him around, but well, I guess Bruce was just asking for it._

_About Carl remembering how Englehorn and Kendra saved Herb... well, that is partially adapted from a plot from Matthew Costello's King Kong: The Island of the Skull, when Hayes saved Herb from the sea lions. I ended up replacing Hayes by Englehorn and Kendra, and in the end, I guess it is coherent with the Englehorn we see in Peter Jackson's movie._

_Well, now, please, deliver me a review, for me to know what you thought of this particular chapter._


	10. Chapter 10: Settling destination

_Hello to all of you, my dear readers. Well, if you belong to the group that started reading this fanfic when it began, then you'll realize this chapter is a little bit different from it's original version, but that's because I've reworked some of the final chapters of this fanfic, due to a review I received, which, frankly, proved a certain kind of point. But the real differences will only be from chapter 13 on. So far, it's only a few lines of differences._

_Now that this is over, let's begin._

* * *

**Chapter 10 – Settling destination**

_Off the coast of Pico Island, October 4__th__, 1933_

The dark grey clouds in the sky blocked most of the light emitted by the sun. Below the thick layer of clouds, the _Venture _seemed almost uniformly surrounded by gray as it sailed southwest of the Pico Island, one of the nine islands that were part of the Azores, a Portuguese archipelago.

On the port side of the ship, Ann Darrow leaned on the railing, watching Pico Island as the ship sailed past it. Even under the grey sky, the island looked quite inviting, with green fields that would look absolutely beautiful in the sunlight. White houses stood out on the grayish green landscape, and a high mountain with the top lost in the clouds that she now knew to be Mount Pico, the highest point of Portugal.

Ann briefly turned her eyes to the sky. The clouds were still there, and perhaps they'd even drop some rain down on them. But the climate in this area was hardly extreme, so there shouldn't be that much water falling. Ann thought about her first trip to Southeast Asia. She had accompanied Uncle Leonard on an expedition to a ruined city that reminded her of something straight out of Kipling's _The Jungle Book_. The monsoon season had started while they were there, and it had been the biggest and longest rainstorm Ann had ever seen in her life. Ann turned her eyes back to Pico Island after a short, indifferent look at the clouds. If today's rainstorm was anything like the previous three storms, then she wouldn't even be able to call it a proper rain at all.

As Ann kept watching the grayish-green landmass, a large grey head broke through the surface, not more than 150 feet away from the _Venture_. It quickly disappeared below the water, only to reappear instantly after. It was a sperm whale. She had seen another like it on the previous day, and Chaves, who had been telling her about his country at her request, had told her those cetaceans were rather common around the Azores – although not for much longer if they kept being hunted, Chaves had added somewhat bitterly. Ann looked at it with interest, as the huge animal curved its back and again disappeared below the water. It stayed under water longer this time, but soon reappeared. The marine mammal lifted its tail almost vertically as it dove. Small drops of water fell from it.

At that moment it began to rain. The rain drops ran along her sleeve instead of leaving a stain, a good evidence of the coat's impermeability. This rain didn't make looking at the sea any less enjoyable, and the waves weren't increasing in size, so Ann stayed where she was. But as she kept watching the island, a voice got her attention.

"Good morning, Miss Darrow."

Ann turned around. Behind her was Mateus Neves, a Portuguese crewman who she'd gotten to know on her second day of the voyage. She found it curious that including Mr. Chaves, who she had also met on the second day, there were now two of Valdemar's countrymen going to Skull Island.

"Good morning, Mr. Neves." she returned the sailor's greeting.

Ann was grateful for being able to look Neves in the eye without turning her head so high. Chaves was over six and a half feet tall.

The man took one of his hands off the crate he was carrying, tipped his cap, and then moved away with the crate, without making any further conversation. Ann watched the sailor going away for some time. The fact he'd made a point to stop and tell her good morning touched her. He was a pleasant fellow, and now that Ann thought about it, he always greeted her whenever he saw her.

In fact, it wasn't only Neves who was friendly. The _Venture_'s crew was friendlier than the other tramp steamers crew's she'd had experience with. Most evenings Ann gathered with the men on the aft deck, usually dancing with Jimmy, but other times either listening to their songs or to their stories. Whatever she did with them, they tried to make her at ease as much as possible. And, even to her surprise, they were succeeding in a way she hadn't thought possible.

Ann turned her gaze back to the island, when another voice addressed her.

"Hello, Ann!"

Ann turned toward the voice and saw Kendra walking at her, her leather trench coat buttoned up and with its belt buckled, apparently ready for the rain. Ann raised her hand in greeting.

Although the two could not spend that much time together because of Kendra's duties, Ann felt happy to have a feminine friend, and she liked the conversations they had. Although the conversations seemed to lean heavily toward Jack Driscoll and the shameful behavior he had revealed so recently.

"Hello, Kendra." A particularly large drop of water fell on her coat with an audible 'plop'. "It looks like it's going to rain hard on us."

"So it seems." Kendra said in a calm tone. "But this rain can only do the ship good. The ship needs to be washed. And this rain does a fine job in doing it."

Ann smiled. "I don't think a good washing is what the _Venture _needs, especially by a little rainstorm."

"You've got that right. Once this trip is over and Eric and I have pocketed more cash, we'll do some repairs and repainting. And cleaning, too, of course."

The rain grew heavier slowly but steadily as the two women enjoyed the view of Pico Island together. Ann started to feel her blond curls flattening out in the downpour. That didn't cause her much discomfort, but the rain was getting so heavy and the clouds so thick that by now Pico Island seemed only a large, black piece of rock, without any view for anyone to really enjoy. Still, being in company of a friend was enjoyable, so Ann considered starting up another conversation, one that hopefully would not involve Jack Driscoll and his shameful behavior. But before she managed to do so, something behind her caught Kendra's attention.

Ann turned her head around, and saw Captain Englehorn right behind her, also with his leather trench coat suitably closed for the rain.

Not wanting to be a barrier between the married couple, Ann moved aside, ready to go. If the Captain was here, that meant Kendra would probably have some duty to attend to. If that was the case, then Ann would go back inside. Ann thrust her hands into the deep pockets of her raincoat, and then started to walk away.

But before she went far, Englehorn's voice stopped her.

"Miss Darrow, wait for a moment."

Ann stopped in her tracks and looked back at the captain. What reason could he have to address her? And right in front of his wife?

Apparently, the captain also had realized the awkwardness of the situation, for he now seemed to don't know how to carry on.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "Excuse me."

Then he turned to his wife and began talking in German. The only words Ann understood were her name, Kendra's name, and, for some odd reason, her uncle's, Denham's and Dollar's names.

"_**Kendra, please tell Miss Darrow to go to our cabin… or better yet, take her there.**_"

"_**Why don't you tell her yourself?**_" asked Kendra.

Englehorn grinned. "_**Because I don't want my wife to get angry at me for inviting a single woman to our cabin.**_"

"_**Why do you want her there?**_"

"_**It won't be just her. While you take her to our cabin, I'm getting Leonard Darrow, Denham, and Dollar. After all, you remember we still need to know where both Darrow and Denham want to go, and you were the one who said Miss Darrow should be there as well when we know. And**_ _**seeing as Denham has been complaining so much about not being able to shoot in this weather, I guess it's a more than appropriate time.**_"

Kendra nodded her understanding. "_**I'll meet you in ten minutes. I can hardly wait to get all of these characters in the same room.**_"

Englehorn moved away from them. Ann looked at Kendra with an inquisitive look on her face.

"What did he tell you?"

"He asked me to invite you to our cabin for a meeting between you, your uncle, Dollar, and Denham. We need to figure out exactly where we are going." Kendra's expression became serious. "You see, Ann, your uncle didn't tell us what the destination is. We have to know it as soon as possible, to plot a course."

A thought dawned on her with an intensity that was both dreadful and thrilling. This was the moment of truth. Maybe it would be decided whether Ann and her uncle would ever get to Skull Island. Part of her wanted to discover if the island was real and if so, see it with her own eyes. Ann also could not repress her desire to help her uncle study a rumored and undiscovered civilization. But another part of Ann hoped Kendra and her husband either didn't believe in its existence, or refused to take them there.

Ann hadn't had any more nightmares about the island since her first night on the _Venture_; nonetheless, the memories of poor Valdemar's diary and the monsters he had described were still too engraved in her mind. Of course the contents of the diary could be lies or exaggerations – in fact, they were so farfetched that they were almost certainly exaggerations – but even if Skull Island was the perfect picture of paradise, Dollar's presence would make it a hell.

"Ann!" Kendra called in a slightly alarmed voice, cutting through her thoughts.

Ann gave a small startled jump, before turning to Kendra.

"Are you alright, Ann? You sort of blanked out."

Ann forced herself to smile.

"I'm alright. Just got lost in my thoughts for a moment."

Kendra looked unconvinced, but fortunately she didn't push the matter further.

"Very well then. Just follow me."

As they ducked through the door and moved into the ship's interior, the idea that the final decision about whether they would get to the island or not occupied every bit of her mind. Ann didn't have much hope for escaping the place. She felt in her heart that they would all end up on Skull Island.

_Captain Englehorn may not to agree to go there, _Ann kept reminding herself. _He may not believe in Skull Island's existence. And if we don't go there, we won't have to put up with whatever treacherous plan Dollar has with it. Remember, Ann Darrow, hope is the last thing to die._

Ann followed Kendra around a corner, and, to her surprise, Jack Driscoll was there, walking toward her. But not for long. As soon as his eyes caught sight of her, he turned on his heels and headed quickly away as fast as his legs could carry him. Ann narrowed her eyes. Ever since that first meeting, whenever he saw her, he ran away from her. She had not yet figured out why he did that. But he couldn't have showed up at a worse moment.

_How can I still believe in hope when Jack Driscoll is so hopeless? _

* * *

Carl Denham stood in the cabin Englehorn and Kendra shared, trying to keep his anger and annoyance bottled up. In the two previous times he had traveled on the _Venture_, he had never been in this cabin, nor had he been particularly interested in doing so. Now he was here, standing close to Ann Darrow, because Englehorn himself had demanded the lot of them come to the cabin for an important meeting. Carl didn't know what Englehorn and Kendra could want to discuss with him that involved the three of them, but apparently it would take longer to know, as Kendra had told they would wait for the arrival of Leonard Darrow and Thomas 'Dollar' Davison. Englehorn had already gone to get both of them, but both apparently were in their own meeting, and would take their time to come.

Again, Carl glared at both Englehorn and Kendra, who were standing at the larger of the two tables they had in their cabin, a map laid out on it, and a pencil over the map. Again, the glare was received with complete impassibility.

Carl started pacing in circles around the cabin. This was just great! First, it had been rainy for a whole week, which had made filming practically impossible, and now Englehorn had put him here waiting for who knew how long before Darrow and Dollar came. Although there were two chairs and a couch available, neither Englehorn nor Kendra had shown the slightest bit of manners and invited them to sit down. What were those two doing, anyway? And why did Englehorn and Kendra want to speak to him? He had done nothing wrong.

Then, his eyes again fell on the map laid out on the table. Understanding fell into his head. Apparently they were waiting for Carl to tell them his destination.

Carl scowled to himself. Before leaving New York, he had told Englehorn and Kendra that he planned to make his movie on a filming location somewhere west of Sumatra. Initially, Englehorn and Kendra had not backed down, but Carl had been tricky enough to use their financial despair and his own cunning to make them accept, although it had been harder than he would have expected. Eventually, he'd have to tell them the truth, but he had hoped the topic would not rise until they were, at least, in the Indian Ocean.

_I don't know what you're complaining about._ Carl's rational side told himself. _After the other two voyages, you should be grateful they let you set foot on this ship again._

Indeed, his voyages on the _Venture_ had a tendency to end up badly, and Carl was forced to admit it was entirely his fault. The first one had been to India, on 1928, and everything had been going well until they were already in India, and, once in the city, Carl had found a cow blocking his and his crew's path, and had kicked it to move it out of the way. The irate citizens seemed like they would have tore him and his crew apart, and probably would have if Englehorn and Kendra hadn't gotten a group of heavily armed sailors on the ship's deck and fired warning shots to prevent them from coming aboard.

The second voyage had been three years ago, the one when Herb had lost his leg to the sea lion, and Carl and all of his filming crew would have lost their lives if not for the timely arrival of the armed Englehorns. If he had listened to their advice and hadn't tried to film Steller sea lions in mating season, that wouldn't have happened.

Carl realized that this time he had to try to behave. But this was never easy on the _Venture_, considering both Englehorn and Kendra either had a natural gift or particular pleasure in annoying him. A new flare of annoyance rushed through him, but his eyes locked on Ann Darrow for a moment. The thought that Dollar had been the one who had financed these two limeys' archaeological expedition came to his mind. As soon as the thought came, his annoyance disappeared, as unease crept through him to take its place.

Carl had heard quite a lot about Thomas Davison and his wealth, but there were rumors that it was all due to dark business, to crimes, remarkably coincident with the ones Al Capone from Chicago was accused of, although apparently the man had started most of those branches of business about two decades before Al Capone or any other gangster, who only started real business in the Prohibition. But if it was true, the police did not have evidence to condemn him. And either way, the guy should not be easy to catch, especially if he had a large supply of bodyguards similar to the ones he had brought on the _Venture_. Carl wondered if, when Dollar came, he would have those men enter the cabin and exercise their strength if the situation didn't turn as he wanted. Carl looked back at Englehorn and Kendra. Both of them had taken off their trench coats, and it was plainly obvious that both husband and wife had a pistol holstered at their hips, as always. A sigh of relief escaped from Carl's lips. The sight of the guns should repress Dollar's crazy ideas.

The door suddenly creaked open. Looking behind, Carl saw Leonard Darrow and Thomas Davison entering the cabin.

"Took you long enough!" he said.

"Now see here, Mr. Denham…" began Leonard.

Carl ignored him, and turned to the Englehorns, his hands on his hips.

"Now that everyone is here, can you tell me what is going on?" he demanded. "In case you both forgot, this was supposed to be private!"

"I know it was supposed to be private, Mr. Denham." said Englehorn in a tone that clearly indicated that he didn't give a damn about Carl's demands of privacy. "But you see, my wife and I could not help but to notice a quite curious thing. We wanted the presence of all of you to confirm it."

Carl took a small step backwards, his eyebrows raising slightly in surprise.

_What in the hell have these two noticed?_

This time, it was Kendra who spoke.

"You told us that your filming location is a place 'somewhere west of Sumatra'."

Before Carl could continue, Ann Darrow's voice interrupted him.

"Wasn't Mr. Denham filming in Singapore?"

Carl was surprised to hear a faint fear in her voice. Giving a sideways look at the English woman, he realized her expression was also slightly apprehensive. _Why?_

_It's not as if it is important, anyway._ he thought as he turned his gaze back to the Englehorns. _I have enough to think about without caring for the fears of a woman, mainly an English one!_

Kendra seemed slightly taken aback at Ann's question.

"Well, maybe at some point he planned filming in Singapore, but he introduced another plan shortly before the _Venture_ left New York. And said plan includes a filming location somewhere west of Sumatra."

"Which seems to be remarkably coincident with the location Mr. Darrow and Mr. Davison gave us." kept Englehorn.

Englehorn extended the pencil toward Carl.

"You mark on this map the location where you want to film, and then Mr. Darrow will mark the location where he wants to do his expedition."

Carl strode to the table, snatched the pencil out of Englehorn's calloused hand, and bent over the map. He took his own piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it on the table. It was the map to Skull Island, bought in Singapore less than five months ago. Unfortunately, although it was fairly precise, it was not as much as Carl would like. The damned Norwegian had marked Skull Island's position as an indefinite circle, not as a precise cross, probably because he didn't have enough information on the location. But it was a rather small circle, nevertheless, and it was likely Skull Island was somewhere inside it. He put the pencil to Englehorn's chart, and drew on it the same circle he had on his map. Then, he folded the map again and put it in his pocket.

"Your turn, Darrow." Carl said to the English man.

* * *

Ann Darrow followed her uncle with her eyes as he moved to the table to mark his position on the map. Apprehension crawled through her insides like a snake. Initially, she had hoped Carl Denham would take as much time as possible shooting his moving picture in Singapore. Now, he told that after all, his destination _also_ was 'somewhere west of Sumatra'. The concept was far too familiar for her liking. Could their destination be the same? Could Denham somehow have discovered any hint about that blank space on the map, and following his filmmaking job, reveal it to the world?

It seemed the most likely thing, and it definitely made her more uneasy than the fact Dollar alone was already going to Skull Island. But Ann would not accept it until she had outright information.

Leonard marked Skull Island's position on the chart, and then, returned close to her and Dollar. Englehorn and Kendra took the map from the table, and looked over it together. Nobody made a sound. Ann's heart pounded in her ears. In a way, it sounded like the marches that were played before the execution of prisoners in medieval Europe.

"Curious." whispered Englehorn after what seemed like eternal silence. "Very curious."

"What is curious?" asked Ann.

Englehorn and Kendra didn't answer her, looking too focused on whatever they were watching on the chart. Clearly impatient for an answer, Dollar said loudly, "Ms. Darrow took the words right off my mouth. Could someone explain me what damn thing is curious?"

Both Englehorns finally looked at them.

"These circles you marked here have a considerable overlap." said Englehorn. "Look for yourselves if you don't believe me."

Englehorn showed them the map, and Ann realized he was right. Those circles weren't a perfect match, but about 80-90% of each of them overlapped the other.

Her heart froze. She could almost hear someone crying 'Execution!' Carl Denham was going to Skull Island as well. Not only would they get there sooner than Ann expected, but there'd be someone else complicating matters. But it was a huge discovery, and she was indeed somewhat excited about being part of a group that would reveal it. However, Ann wondered if Skull Island wasn't the kind of place that perhaps should be left alone. Maybe it still would, Ann reminded herself. After all, the Englehorns could still refuse.

"It looks like you want to go to the same location." said Kendra. "Now, what location is that exactly?"

"Skull Island." said Carl and Leonard at the same time.

Right after they spoke, the two men looked at each other.

Dollar was the first to break out of his amazement. "Well, at least we save more time than we would if we had to divert to Singapore."

"Probably not." said Englehorn. "Chester Brown and Steve Bennett are passengers to Singapore. We have to go there anyway."

Dollar took a wad of bills from his pocket.

"See this? This is a thousand dollars. I give you an extra grand if you give priority to our journey to Skull Island."

In spite of the extra money, the Captain and Kendra did not seem too convinced to accept the proposal. The two engaged in a silent argument with their eyes, a language only husband and wife could understand.

Finally, Englehorn said.

"You do realize that this place is a myth, right?"

"I have solid proof of its existence!" said Carl.

He took out a piece of yellow paper, and said as he brandished it,

"I have a map made by a Norwegian captain from the story of a castaway he picked up seven years ago!"

"And I have a map drawn by Valdemar Martins, a Portuguese sailor from the 16th century!" said Leonard. He took Valdemar's map to Skull Island from the pocket of his jacket, and waved it into the air, in a gesture that looked like Denham's far too much for Ann's liking. Even more startling was hearing the tone in her uncle's voice. It was as if getting to that island meant more to him than all the work he had ever made. It really could be the last blank space on the map. Being part of the team that would reveal it was significant, maybe enough to put a man in history books.

Ann preferred to leave the space blank.

"I wanted _solid proof_, not crazy tales from mad castaways." Englehorn growled.

"Both maps could perfectly be clever fakes." added Kendra.

Ann noticed that Kendra seemed just slightly scared at the idea of going to that island. Why, it wasn't certain, but maybe the place was whispered about by sailors. And if she didn't think of it as a wild goose chase, then maybe she didn't like the idea of going there. Divided between wanting to see the island and wanting to come up with subtle speech that would convince Englehorn and Kendra to not go to the island, she found herself empty-mouthed.

Some others in the cabin weren't like her in that point.

"And can't you go on faith?" asked Carl.

Both Englehorn and Kendra narrowed their eyes. "Denham, about you, there's only one thing we can have faith in." The captain's voice was icy.

"Trouble." said Kendra, her voice a perfect match of her husband's.

A small sparkle of hope blossomed inside Ann's heart.

"Maybe so, but this one will be worth it!" insisted Carl. "I assure you!"

"I highly doubt it." said Englehorn. "Even _if_ this island happens to be real, we may not find it."

"We're not paying you to make considerations!" said Dollar. "We're paying you to get to that damn place no matter what it takes!"

Dollar's words sent a chill up Ann's spine.

_No matter what it takes? I don't like it._

"There's no need to exaggerate, Mr. Dollar." said Leonard. "After all, it might be…"

"Yes, Darrow, that island can be hard to find, can't it?" Denham broke in. "But I guess Englehorn and his wife here just have to take a chance."

Then, an almost wolfish smirk came across the movie producer's face, and he said, his eyes fastened on Englehorn,

"Or are you so secure that you do not feel the need to take any chances?"

Ann caught a glimpse of Dollar with a smirk even worse than Carl's. Dollar looked absolutely thrilled at having discovered a weakness the Englehorns had. Ann saw the fear that flashed across the face of both Englehorn and Kendra. It wasn't for more than a moment, but it was enough.

And it was obvious they would look for Skull Island.

"If you refuse now, I'll demand my money back." Dollar added almost gleefully.

"And I'll freeze my check." said Carl.

"That's enough!" Englehorn moved from the table and walked menacingly toward them.

"Your circle is quite vast, there's no guarantee that we'll be capable of finding the island before we run out of supplies." said Englehorn, his voice filled with quiet anger. "And, if that happens, we will not make a second attempt."

He paused for a moment, before adding,

"And for your sakes, I'd keep silent about the destination."

Ann guessed it was exactly what both Denham and Dollar pretended, and their nods confirmed it exactly.

Englehorn's anger seemed to grow slightly as he said,

"Now get out."

Ann was far too happy to oblige. Dollar passed the extra thousand dollars to Englehorn before they all left the cabin.

Much to her surprise, as soon as they got out of Englehorn's cabin, Carl started herding her, her uncle and Dollar like if they were sheep. Dollar's bodyguards, who had stood outside for the entire meeting, followed them.

"What is it, Mr. Denham?" asked Leonard.

"Now that we've discovered this nice similarity, I think it's time for a conversation. Or, more appropriately, a negotiation."

Ann did not like the look in Denham's eyes. Not one single bit.

* * *

Captain Eric Englehorn put his leather trench coat back on and fastened all the buttons, before buckling its belt. He had left Hayes in charge, but he needed to go back to duty.

Eric's jaw was clenched so tightly that it began to ache. He was furious at both Dollar and Denham. This voyage was meant to be a way to undo the losses of the previous one, but a voyage to an uncharted island that almost certainly did not exist was far from the best way to do so. If in some crazy twist of fate the island was real, it would be much better if it remained uncharted.

Eric cursed under his breath. He shouldn't have let his despair take hold of him when Denham had come up with his offer, or when Dollar had proposed an archaeological expedition 'somewhere west of Sumatra'. He should have demanded to know the exact destination on the spot. Maybe he should have instead thought of transporting different types of cargo to get money. Animals were normally more profitable than inanimate cargo, but maybe he should have considered that option this time. After all, it would not be the first time he carried inanimate cargo. Capturing and transporting live animals was his specialty, but it wasn't his exclusive branch of business.

Unfortunately, now it was too late to make considerations.

After putting on his captain cap, Eric turned his eyes to Kendra. His annoyance decreased slightly as he watched her finishing tying her hair in a ponytail, and then putting on her own leather trench coat.

When she put on her captain cap, she turned her green eyes to him, a serious look in them.

"_**Eric, we need to talk.**_"

"_**What is it?**_" he asked, trying not to infuse any of the annoyance he felt toward Denham and Dollar into his voice.

Kendra chewed on her forefinger for a moment before she finally voiced out her question.

"_**Is it wise to accept this idea of trying to find Skull Island?**_"

Her voice didn't seem scared, but Eric saw hints of fear in her eyes. In fact, Eric had been asking the same thing to himself. But the answer was always the same.

"_**Kendra, if we refuse, they won't pay us. Is**_** that**_** wise?**_"

"_**Eric, I know we need the money, but maybe we should start thinking of an alternate plan, just in case this one fails. There's no guarantee we can find the island before running out of supplies.**_"

"_**In that case, we will divert to some port and then pick up any kind of cargo to transport.**_" said Eric.

He knew that the possibility of not finding Skull Island before running out of supplies was not what scared his wife.

"_**Why are you scared?**_" he asked.

"_**I didn't say I was scared.**_" said Kendra.

Eric gave her a half-smile.

"_**You don't have to say it, woman.**_"

Eric saw hints of a smile appearing on Kendra's lips for a moment, but then, her slight fear returned.

"_**Eric, what if it is real? You've heard of it. The place is dangerous. Ships disappear in that area.**_"

Eric, being far less superstitious than the average sailor, didn't believe in Skull Island's existence more than he did in Saint Nicholas. He was surprised Kendra did, as she usually also wasn't superstitious. But after all, she didn't describe Skull Island's rumors as a fact, but simply considered the possibility they could be real. Something Eric himself was forced to do, if he now had to look for the place. Maps drawn by maddened castaways were not solid proof, but there could be something true to it.

Sensing Kendra's unease, Eric tried to work a joke in.

"_**Kendra, we are going to the middle of the Indian Ocean, not to the Bermuda Triangle.**_"

But Kendra didn't show any signs of calming down. Eric decided to drop the jokes, but he couldn't say anything comforting. In the end, the only soothing thing he managed to say was,

"_**It is possible we won't find it, anyway.**_"

Kendra looked up at him.

"_**I would prefer if we didn't.**_"

"_**I would prefer if we found it and than every rumor about it beyond its existence proved false.**_" said Eric.

Finally, a smile found its way into Kendra's lips. Eric himself smiled at the sight. He liked it much better when she smiled, her neat white teeth enhanced by her deeply tanned skin. But then, it disappeared again.

"_**Somehow, I think if it exists, then the rumors about it will be true as well.**_"

Eric could not think of an appropriate reply, so he just drew her into his arms, and hugged her. Kendra hugged him back, almost tighter than she should.

"_**Why is this happening?**_" she asked. "_**When did we lose total control of our situation?**_"

Eric stayed silent for a while. They had not lost _total_ control,not yet, anyway. The only thing he currently found he could do was trying to reassure her, like he had to do almost far too often since the last disastrous voyage.

"_**I don't know.**_" he said. "_**But like I said, we have been through worse. And I'll do **_**everything**_** I can to make sure we get through this in one piece.**_"

Kendra finally eased a little bit into his arms. Eric took off her captain cap and gently kissed the top of her head, before putting it back on. He cursed himself for not to be capable of doing better, but as much as he hated to admit it, he was only human.

"_**Now let's go.**_" he said. "_**We need to get back to duty.**_"

* * *

_Well, as you may have noticed, there were fairly little differences from the original version of this chapter - other than a small tweaking of Ann's attitude toward rain and the inclusion of the character of Neves - I know, two Portuguese sailors may be a little bit over the edge, but belive me, there's a reason for it. _

_Well... if you haven't reviewed yet, please, review now._


	11. Chapter 11: Negotiations and conflicts

_Hello, my dear readers. This here is the second chapter of the set I reworked. Like with the previous one, and the following one, the changes are fairly minor, but still, I felt as if they were necessary._

_Now that this is over, let's begin._

* * *

**Chapter 11 – Negotiations and conflicts**

Carl Denham herded the Darrows and Dollar to his cabin like sheep, trying his best not to feel annoyed or angry at himself because of what he was about to propose to them. Dollar's bodyguards followed them like shadows. Carl was much more than certain that a sign from Dollar was enough for one of the four men twist Carl's neck like a chicken's, if Dollar so wanted. And right now it looked as if Dollar just might be angry enough to do it.

"What in the hell do you want from us, Denham?"

"I told you. Negotiations." said Denham.

"Why are you suddenly so willing to negotiate with English people?" Ann's voice was cold.

Carl didn't reply, instead giving more importance to his chain of thoughts. Why on earth did they have to be going to Skull Island as well? Carl wanted to be the one to discover Skull Island and reveal it to the world. True enough, from the moment he knew archaeologists had come along; he had been counting on them to increase the publicity about the discovery of the place. He needed publicity for his film, as much as he could get. The question was did they disturb his plans for Skull Island?

As a matter of fact they did. If Darrow published a work about Skull Island that did not mention Carl Denham at all, there would be more attention gravitating to Darrow's work than to Carl's movie.

Given the choice between joining his work with that of two English snobs and having the risk of them taking the spotlight away from his picture, Carl decided to choose the lesser of the two evils.

"Here we are." said Carl. He opened the door with a flourish.

Carl pushed Leonard, Ann, and Dollar inside. Dollar's bodyguards did not try to follow him in. Instead, one of them pushed Carl inside, and then closed the door from the outside. Carl felt as if he had an ice cube stuck in his throat. It seemed he was being put under house arrest, only by a gangster's sidekicks instead of a policeman.

Shaking his disturbance off, Carl turned around the cabin. The Darrows had already made themselves comfortable on the battered leather sofa, the only furniture in his cabin besides his bunk, which is where Dollar parked himself. He pulled a cigar out of the inner pocket of his jacket and placed it in his mouth. Dollar reached back into his pocket and pulled out his cigar cutter and snipped of the end. He then extracted a match and swiped it against the bottom of his boot. He then brought the flaming end of the match to the end of his cigar and started puffing.

Although he smoked a pipe, Carl couldn't stand the smell of cigar smoke. For a moment he wanted to snatch the cigar out of Dollar's fingers and crush it out. But the idea that Dollar had four cousins of Charlie Atlas outside the cabin ready to pounce stopped that action.

"What's your proposal?" asked Dollar through a cloud of smoke. "Hurry up, I don't have all day!"

"As it turns out, it looks like we're going to the same place, with the same purpose of uncovering mysteries, although in a different way." Carl tried with all his might to speak in a confident voice. "My proposal is: we put our differences aside and work together."

Carl paused, thinking maybe a short moment of silence would allow the other occupiers of the cabin to absorb his words better.

"How does that benefit us?" Smoke curled from his mouth like smoke from a volcano's crater.

"Think about it! I will have my movie. You will have a complete study of Skull Island's extinct civilization. If we join our works, we will draw much more attention. That implies a larger profit."

'Profit' turned out to be the keyword, at least for Dollar. He tried to disguise this fact, but Carl saw far too well the light of greed in the other man's eyes. Leonard didn't seem as certain, but it was clear that he was starting to lean toward accepting Carl's suggestion, too. Miss Darrow just looked slightly apprehensive, the same as she had looked in Englehorn's cabin when Carl had revealed that his destination was not Singapore, but Skull Island.

"A hell of a good idea, Mr. Denham." said Dollar, suddenly in a somewhat formal tone.

"I admit it would have its advantages." added Leonard. "But I still find it remarkable that my niece and I have suddenly stopped being those two stuck up limeys you've been calling us."

Carl shrugged. "What can I say? I am a proud American."

Leonard made an impatient noise.

Carl rocked up on to the balls of his feet. "Better yet! You, Darrow, present your study about Skull Island as a sort of speech, and then I show my movie, or vice versa. It'd take a whole advertisement page in _Variety._"

Carl gestured grandly into the air. "Something like, "Myth Turned Reality' as a title. Then as subtitle, it could, 'The Secrets of the Last Blank Space on the Map'."

This time, Leonard seemed like the one more entranced by the idea. Ann looked shell-shocked, but in the end her opinion wouldn't have enough weight, if she even voiced it out, which didn't seem likely at the moment.

"We could have the premiere on the Alhambra Theatre." said Carl. "Or maybe even on your Royal Hall, if you two assisted us. We'd invite the whole Royal Family of England to the unveiling of Skull Island's mysteries!"

For a moment, Carl cursed himself for not being a writer. Maybe Jack would agree to write the persuasive speech. But then maybe not; as much as Jack could write violence, manipulation, and persuasion into his plays, Carl doubted Jack would do it for something real. He was too much of a saint for his own good, no matter what someone did to him. And even Carl admired that.

Carl had saved the best piece of bait for last, and he tossed it out, hoping for the best.

"Our names would go down in history. History, gentleman, lives forever."

That had been it.

Leonard rose from the couch and walked over to Denham. "Association would be the most civilized way to avoid competition, Mr. Denham. I agree with your proposition." He turned to Dollar, and added, "Assuming Mr. Dollar agrees with cooperating with you."

"There's no problem." said Dollar instantly. "Of course I agree."

Carl couldn't help but to notice the mobster seemed annoyed about something. It seemed that although he was thrilled at the idea of an association and the perspective of bigger profit, said association disturbed his plans with something. With what exactly, Carl didn't know. And he also didn't care.

"We shake on it." said Carl.

Dollar shook Carl's hand with a huge deal of enthusiasm, but then, Dollar's look turned slightly angry, and his grip tightened, as if he intended to squash Carl's stubby hand inside his own.

"In that case, let's make divisions of the total profits." said Dollar. "Forty percent for me, thirty percent for Darrow and his niece. Thirty percent for you." He emphasized the word _you_.

Carl kept shaking Dollar's hand, although most of it now was an attempt to get rid of Dollar's grasp.

Dollar looked past Carl's shoulder. "Are we agreed, Darrow?" asked Dollar.

"It sounds equitable to me." said Leonard. "What do you think, Mr. Denham?"

Pulling with his full might, Carl finally managed to extract his hand from Dollar's grip.

"I guess we have a deal." panted Carl.

For some reason, Ann Darrow got up and her eyes locked on Carl. Her look was impossibly steely and cold.

"I still think it is just shameful how you started seeing us so differently from the moment you realized we could be useful to your profits, _Mr._ Denham." she said in an icy voice.

Carl felt an unexplainable chill when she said 'Mr.'. But before the chill had time to stop, Ann got up and walked to the door.

"Ann, my dear…" said Leonard, his voice remorseful.

Ann just exited the cabin, closing the door with so much angry strength that Carl felt capable of swearing the whole _Venture_ had shaken.

Leonard looked at the closed door, his eyes suddenly growing disturbed.

It appeared he had started to be having second thoughts. This was bad news. And Carl had to do something. But before he could decide what to do, Dollar patted Leonard's back as if they were old friends.

"Don't worry, Leonard." he said. "She'll forgive you in the end. She always does."

"So true, she always does." said Leonard.

Carl joined the conversation. "And anyway, you can't stop doing things just because your niece decides to complain. It's about time she understands things don't always go the way she wants and quits being a spoiled girl."

"My niece is not a spoiled girl, Mr. Denham." said Leonard, his eyes narrowing.

"Well, she acted a little bit like one right now." said Carl, trying to school his tone.

Leonard did not reply.

"Now, let's not argue." Inserted Dollar. "We'll be associates, and introduce Skull Island's discovery to the world through your work and Denham's movie. Right, Leonard?"

Leonard stopped for a moment, as two instincts seemed to enter in conflict under his white hair. Finally, he exhaled, and voiced his agreement. He nodded.

"Well, I'm off to go speak with Ann." Leonard tipped an invisible hat and then left the cabin.

Dollar stood for a moment chewing on his cigar, and then he turned around and left as well.

After the cabin door shut, a delighted smile broke on to Carl's face. He had just assured much more attention to his picture. He would gain even more money from it than he thought initially. Fame and recognition were an ever bigger guarantee now.

Feeling suddenly very happy, Carl walked to his reserves poured a large amount of whiskey into the glass, and toasted into thin air.

"To success. To glory. To making _him_ notice that I'm not a loser."

After finishing his short speech, Carl took a large gulp at once.

* * *

Ann Darrow entered her cabin and slammed the door shut behind her. She sat down on her bed, breathing heavily with anger. For a moment, she almost didn't recognize herself. It was extremely unlike her to have sudden surges of fury, but seeing Uncle Leonard accepting Carl Denham's proposal made her feel almost as if her uncle had just signed their death sentence.

Her uncle! Was Leonard so desperate to have a place in history? Was the lure of fame and entertainment now suddenly so important to her uncle? Oh, why would he associate with Carl Denham? Although Denham didn't seem as bad as Dollar, he still looked too focused on his objectives to really care about what happened to the others in the end. So far, he had only proved to hate her and her uncle. And yet, Leonard had shaken his hand after he threw him the bait that an association would attract more notoriety to his work. She had known her uncle was willing to get to Skull Island, but she had never realized how willing he was – until now. It was understandable Leonard wanted credit for the find, but there were limits for everything!

The worse part was, her uncle had never done archaeology for notoriety. He had always taught her that archaeology was the means of learning more about different cultures of the world and their history, a way of mankind getting to know itself. In addition to that, Leonard had always worked for either the British Museum or the American Museum of Natural History. Unfortunately, neither organization gave a second thought to Valdemar's diary or the ape figurine, and that is why her uncle had turned to Dollar...again.

The thing that made her want to see Skull Island was her wish to learn about the civilization that once lived there, according to Valdemar's diary. She knew there'd be a lot of attention on the island after they unveiled their discovery, and most likely on the two of them, but she didn't want people to swarm on their discovery like piranhas over a bleeding animal.

_Like I said, there are limits for everything._

Now Ann knew that Uncle Leonard's purpose for this discovery clearly was not simply about learning or sharing knowledge anymore. It was now in part for glory, and that disturbed her more than the idea of finding the creatures Valdemar described on his diary.

For a moment, Ann almost hit her head against the wall. Why was everything going wrong with this expedition? First Jack Driscoll had behaved like an animal, now her uncle had sold his soul to the devil just to get a place in history. What would happen next?

_Hopefully, nothing will happen._ Ann tried to reassure herself. If God meant so, this would be the end of it.

_The end of it?_ Ann sarcastically asked herself._ Ann Darrow, you are on a ship with a greedy tycoon, a single-minded filmmaker, and an old archaeologist with stars in his eyes. Do you think this is the end of it?_

No. Probably not.

Ann had always known that Dollar went on their expeditions to get profit all for himself. Ann still remembered Dollar accompanying them to their expedition to Peru that had led to the discovery of the ruins of an Incan temple. Several gold items had mysteriously disappeared. Dollar had also come with them to México. Again, several golden Aztec artefacts had gone missing. The two expeditions when pieces of discovery had disappeared. Ann did not repeat those accusations out loud due to lack of evidence, but she was certain that he was the guilty.

_Right._ Ann thought. _As if artefacts were the only thing that went missing on those expeditions.. _

One of Leonard's colleagues and two local labourers had 'gone missing' shortly after having arguments with Dollar. Of course nothing had ever been proven. When the bodies were found, Dollar seemed as shocked as everyone else. All three deaths eventually were ruled as accidents.

Ann hoped with all of her heart that Uncle Leonard would not end up regretting his association with Dollar.

Ann was not clear on what Dollar had to gain by getting to Skull Island. She didn't even know if there was anything in terms of treasure or valuable artefacts, and part of her didn't want to know what was on the island. What Ann was clear on was the fact that Dollar would not give up his plans for anything or anyone.

"What can I do?" Ann said aloud. She answered herself in a whisper. "Pray."

* * *

Thomas Percival Davison, more commonly known to society by his somewhat depreciative nickname "Mr. Dollar", walked in circles inside his cabin, trying to drain out his anger after Leonard Darrow had associated them with that idiot Denham. Being honest with himself, Dollar had to admit he didn't know why exactly he was angry. After all, as Denham had said, an association would be much more profitable. But at the same time, bringing too much attention to Skull Island could spoil another plan that Dollar had to get more money.

In the end, his life had become one endless pursuit of money. Both his mother and father had struggled with every nerve of their bodies to put bread on the table. His father worked in a meat packing plant, and his mother a waitress at a small diner. Both of them worked as slaves, and they barely got enough to keep the three of them going. In the end, both of them had been worked to death, leaving a fifteen year old son to fend for himself. It was then that Dollar had learned that he had to reach the top, no matter what, no matter how.

He was always climbing higher and higher, always putting himself one step ahead of competition, and removing whoever tried to rival him. His first target had been Cedric Lloyd, the owner of the factory his father had worked in. Dollar had been determined to avenge his parents by acquiring Lloyd's business. Dollar had learned a lot from Lloyd, including how satisfying it could be remove the 'competition' when he had pumped Cedric Lloyd's disgusting guts full of rifle lead.

Sure, it could be argued that his means to fortune could be considered 'criminal', 'morally wrong' or 'unethical', but those terms, like everything else, depended on the point of view. What Cedric Lloyd had done to his father was nothing short of murder. Justice, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.

This expedition had actually potential for a lot of money, for more reasons than just Darrow's mound of papers about the place. Dollar smiled. Multiple possibilities were a good thing.

Another thing that would be good was to dispose of Jimmy Dawson. He didn't get what the kid was doing here, but it was possible that the kid knew too much about Dollar's activities. It was also possible that the kid actually didn't know anything, but Dollar always preferred to play safe. And in this case, playing safe was throwing the kid to the sharks. But Dollar had trouble seeing how to do it when Hayes, Kendra, and even Englehorn were trying to do everything to protect him after Dollar had showed aggression toward Jimmy. In the end, he concluded it was just a matter of waiting for the right opportunity. He wouldn't let a kid to destroy what he had spent decades building.

* * *

Kendra moved after Eric through the stairs that lead to the wheelhouse. The rain had grown stronger during the time they had spent figuring out their exact destination. Rain pattered constantly against Kendra's leather trench coat. Water streamed down her face and hands, and she guessed her ponytail would be soaked by now. But after all, this was merely rain, it was nothing to her. As the wind hadn't yet shown signs of increasing, there shouldn't be much danger of a storm. And even if there was, it wouldn't be the first storm she would be through. Eric always tried to insist that she stay in the cabin during a storm, but Kendra always managed to convince him that she wouldn't be able to just sit tight while he faced the danger. Kendra felt chills rushing through her skin, although she knew they were from fear, and not from the cold. The knowledge of where Denham and Dollar intended to go had been too disturbing. Kendra wasn't superstitious enough to believe in the place's existence as solid fact, but it was a scary possibility.

Kendra glanced around her through the heavy rain. The ship, the crewmen, and lastly Eric passed in front of her eyes. Could it be that in no more than a month, they'd be with all those that had shipwrecked on that fatal place, joining the bodies and sunken boats seasoning the sea?

_No, that can't be!_ Kendra told herself. _You can't think that way, Kendra! Don't start attracting bad luck!_

Eric entered the wheelhouse, and Kendra followed him. However, even before she went one step, she bumped into Eric who had suddenly stopped. Kendra peered over her husband's shoulder, and it didn't take long to figure out why. Hayes was looking straight at the two of them, his expression as gloomy as the sky outside.

Something serious had happened. The idea made her feel a sudden chill. She only hoped it had nothing to do with Jimmy.

"Something wrong, Mr. Hayes?" asked Kendra.

Hayes fixed his gaze on the captain. He finally spoke.

"I need to speak with you, Captain."

"Is there any problem with the ship or the crew?" Kendra interjected.

"Not yet."

"Cut the dramatics, Hayes." The Captain's voice was sharp, impatient.

Hayes walked forward, and as he passed the Captain, he inclined his head toward the Englehorns. "I will speak with you _alone_."

Kendra knew what Hayes meant by the word 'alone'. Not just outside the wheelhouse, but in the captain's cabin. She watched her husband. His eyes narrowed in comprehension.

"Very well." Eric said quietly. In his captain's voice, he issued new orders. "I want Mr. Clarke at the helm." Englehorn then turned to Hayes. "I'll see you in my quarters."

Hayes nodded. The three of them left the wheelhouse, Hayes going to fetch Clarke, and the Englehorns toward their cabin.

When she and Eric reached their cabin, Kendra realized she felt more nervous than ever. In an effort to clear her mind, she hung up her cap and let her hair loose. She picked up her hairbrush, sat down, and began brushing her hair. It usually helped her calm down when she was upset.

Eric hung up his dripping cap next to Kendra's and then pulled out his cigarette case. Even as he took the cigarette to his mouth and looked for the matches, he began to pace. "_**What do you suppose Hayes wants with us?**_"

"_**I don't know.**_" said Kendra.

Eric lit his cigarette. The hairbrush ran through Kendra's hair ever more quickly.

Eric kept pacing.

Kendra jumped at the sudden rap at the cabin's door.

Eric removed his cigarette from between his pursed lips. "Come."

Hayes entered the cabin and closed the door firmly behind him. Trails of water ran down his coat and on to the floor. His right hand was tucked inside his bridge coat. If this was a stranger, Kendra would have thought he would produce a gun, but this was Hayes, not a thug off the street.

Hayes took his hand from inside his coat and Kendra saw he clutched two charts in it. By the grim look on Hayes' face, it wasn't hard to figure out what he wanted.

He extended the charts to them.

"What is the meaning of this?"

For a moment, neither the Captain nor his wife said anything, but then, Eric took his Kreket cigarette out of his mouth. On cue, Kendra put her hairbrush aside.

Eric spoke. "What is the meaning of what?"

Kendra's eyes flicked between her husband and his first mate. It was far out of Benjamin Hayes character to question Eric. He must be very upset.

Hayes thrust the second chart toward Englehorn.

"This heading puts us southwest of Sumatra." said Hayes.

"It's a new course, Mr. Hayes." Eric took another drag from his cigarette.

"It takes us outside the shipping lanes."

"What of it?"

"Cut the crap, Eric. We run into trouble out there, and there won't be anyone around to pull our butts out of the fire."

Kendra flinched inwardly. Hayes was not appealing to her husband as the Captain of the _Venture_ anymore, but as a friend.

Hayes kept up his verbal attack. "Seven vessels have been lost in that area. _Seven!_ That's over 200 men. What of _that_, Captain?"

Kendra tried to ignore the shivers coursing up and down her spine. She felt paralyzed by the tension in the cabin; the air was thick with it.

Eric leaned forward; his hands clutched the sides of the table until his knuckles were white. "I don't believe in fairy stories."

Hayes smacked the charts against the large table. "How much did he pay you?"

Englehorn looked at him straight in the eyes.

"That's far enough, Ben." said the captain, his German accent giving his voice a dreadful and dangerous tone.

"How much?" shouted Hayes. "I want to know: how much are our lives and your ship worth?"

"There are dangers in any job." Eric countered. "Especially this one. You know that."

"Whatever you got, I hope it's worth it."

With that, Hayes shouldered his way between the Englehorns and left the cabin.

* * *

For the first time in a long while, Benjamin Hayes turned his back on Captain Englehorn and Kendra. Both of them were guilty. Hayes knew they always made decisions together, and although Englehorn was always the one with the final word, if Kendra truly wanted to dissuade him, she'd almost certainly manage to do so. This meant that this time, she either hadn't tried, or she had failed. Hayes didn't know which one of those he preferred.

When he got back outside, Hayes gripped the railing so strongly his fingers started to hurt. Now that some of his anger had been vented, Hayes wondered if he hadn't been judging the Englehorns too harshly. After all, people of honour they were, they could make mistakes – just like everyone else.

And Hayes, just like all of the crew, didn't have to be reminded what had happened during the last voyage, nor what would happen if this one had a similar result. They probably had been desperate enough to accept whatever healthy sum that pig Denham had promised them. But still, they could have tried to find some other way of recovering from their losses.

Hopefully, they simply wouldn't find that place – if they were even going there. After all, it could be just a coincidence, and their journey had nothing to do with that dreadful location. Either way, it had managed to remain uncharted for so long, maybe it would a little bit more. And when that happened, they could safely turn to any other means of recovering money, like transporting normal cargo instead of capturing and selling animate one.

Hayes had lost whatever faith he could have in God when he fought with the Harlem Hellfighters on the Great War, but now, he almost turned himself to praying. For only God seemed capable of getting them all safely out of this.

* * *

Captain Eric Englehorn felt raw anger welling up inside him, but he tried to drain it out by taking a drag of his Kretek cigarette. After he blew out the smoke, Kendra moved in front of him.

"Eric."

He took the cigarette out of his mouth.

"_**What now?**_"

"_**You heard….**_" said Kendra.

"_**Yes, I heard.**_" Interrupted Eric. "_**He figured out where we are going. It doesn't really make much of a difference, he would have discovered eventually.**_"

"_**And that is ALL you have to say?**_"

Eric felt his patience slipping. He and Kendra had talked about this business shortly before, and for his part, he felt that he had said everything there was to say. Why did Kendra keep insisting? Didn't she realize that he had no other choice than to accept the offer of those two, no matter how foolish it was? Did she even think that he _liked_ the idea of searching for an island that couldn't even exist, and possibly would turn out much worse if it did exist?

"_**We've already discussed this matter, on more than one occasion.**_" Eric snapped. "_**I'm starting to get sick of it. I've told you time and time again, we have to do this thing!**_"

"_**We don't have to go.**_" Kendra said, her voice rising. "_**You're the Captain! Go up to Denham and Dollar, tell them you refuse to accept the work, lock them up in a cage if they complain, and return to New York where we can find some legitimate work!**_"

"_**And throw away all of that money?**_" Eric insisted. "_**You know…**_"

"_**Money, money, money!**_" shouted Kendra. "_**You've been spinning your whole life around the goddamn money lately! And because of that you don't have the guts to go to those two and tell them you refuse! You're behaving like a coward!**_"

Any remnants of calm Eric evaporated. He could barely summon the self-control for not to slap his wife.

"_**I am this ship's Captain!**_" he hissed. "_**Whatever freedoms I have allowed in the past does not include telling me what to do."**_

"_**You're the Captain?**_" Kendra's voice was now a disdainful scoff. "_**You've become a puppet, with Dollar and Denham pulling your strings!**_"

"_**Arrogant woman!**_" Raged Englehorn.

Kendra cocked her arm back to slap her husband, but Eric reached up and intercepted his wife's hand.

"_**How dare you!**_" she shouted. "_**I am your wife!**_"

"_**Yes, you're my wife, and not the Captain of this vessel. Unless you have anything intelligent to say, get the hell out!"**_

Kendra jerked her wrist free from Eric's grasp. "_**Gladly!**_"

Eric watched her retreating, ram-rod straight back with her black hair cascading down over her shoulders. Without turning to look at him, she snatched her captain cap from the hanger and roughly put it on. For the briefest of moments, he wanted to shout to her to braid her hair or tie it up in a ponytail before leaving. He didn't want the crewmembers looking at her with her hair down. She looked more of the beautiful woman that she was with her hair long and free.

She slammed the door shut. Eric punched the smaller table in his cabin, making the gramophone that stood on it shake dangerously close to the table's edge. She had just turned her back on him, and the first thing he had thought of was Kendra leaving his cabin with her hair loose!

The things she had just shouted at him kept echoing in his ears. And the worst was that Eric had a strong impression that she was right. No, he wasn't obsessed with the profit, damn it! If they were in a good financial situation, he wouldn't do this! He was doing this because he had no other choice! They needed the payment! And she knew it! It wasn't an excuse to endanger his crew, but what danger was there in searching for a fairy tale island? It didn't exist!

But if he believed so much it didn't exist, then why didn't he do as Kendra said?

And what could he do now? Turn back and receive nothing to pay for what he had spent so far? That couldn't be. Now, no matter what it was, he had to follow this to the end.

He was a puppet alright, a puppet of his despair and financial needs. And although he currently hated Denham and Dollar, he felt as if he was almost forced to take them there. Otherwise, he'd lose the _Venture_.

But after this argument, it seemed Eric was close to lose the most important thing he had: his wife. He loved Kendra more than anything in the world. Losing his ship would be hard to stand, but losing his wife would be impossible to stand. And now, she had turned her back on him. It was the first really serious argument they had in a long time. He felt sick.

Eric felt a sudden urge to apologize her, and beg her for not to leave him alone to face this problem. As much as it surprised even himself, he needed her help. But he wouldn't do it. His pride stopped him from lower himself to begging to a woman. And Eric cursed himself for that.

"_**God damn it**_!" He punched the table again to mark his words.

* * *

_Well, my dear readers, we got to the end of another slightly changed chapter. Like with the previous one, I felt these small changes were important, and so, I made them. I'm sorry for you having to read this again, and well... I honestly hope my changes don't drive my readers away._

_Now... if you haven't reviewed yet, please, review now._


	12. Chapter 12: Tension spreading

_Hello again, to all of you, my dear readers. Well, this chapter is the last one from the three chapters with only minor changes. The next three chapters will be also be changed versions of already published chapters - but those will be with MAJOR changes._

_I hope this habit of making changes on these chapters doesn't cost me all my readers... but well, I'll respect you if you decide to stop reading this fanfic._

_Now that this is over, let's begin._

* * *

**Chapter 12 – Tension spreading**

_Mediterranean Sea, October 14__th__, 1933_

As it neared the northern coast of Africa, the _Venture_ sailed through warmer waters and weather. The sun shone over the tramp steamer without any clouds to protect those below from its heat.

In the galley of the tramp steamer, Chester Brown unclasped a metal cap from the top of a bottle of Coca-Cola and took down a gulp of the drink directly from its container. In the city, Chester would have used a glass, but on a rusty tramp steamer one could drink from the bottle without receiving heavy stares. Besides, he trusted the glasses on the _Venture_ about as much as he trusted a crocodile not to bite him if he put his head in its mouth.

The carbonated drink left a trail of freshness in its path, but as Chester lowered the bottle; his eyes caught sight of Thomas "Dollar" Davison sitting at a table with his four giants and Leonard Darrow. Darrow and Dollar bent over some papers whispering to each other, while the goons scanned the room with sullen stares. The fresh feeling in his stomach was replaced by queasiness as he looked at the group of six men. In spite of the heat enveloping the ship, cold sweat dripped down Chester's back.

Chester took his eyes away from Dollar and Darrow for a moment to look at a trio of sailors sitting at another table. The crewmen were spending their free time playing briscola, but they didn't seem to be enjoying themselves. There faces were somber, and there was very little banter between them. The whole crew, it seemed, had been quite and restless the past ten days.

Setting the bottle on the table again, Chester turned his attention back to the chess board in front of him. Steve had made the game's first move while Chester had been drinking his Coca-Cola. Trying to look focused on the game, Chester moved one of his pawns.

While Steve considered his next move, Chester again turned his eyes to Darrow and Dollar. The churning in his gut became more intense. Since the first moment he had set eyes on him, Chester had known what Dollar was – and his knowledge about the man's activities didn't play any role in it. Chester had seen enough men of Dollar's kind to recognize a specimen at the distance. And he knew that having men like Dollar around would eventually lead to catastrophe. The only questions were how and when.

_But what is Darrow doing with Dollar? _Chester wondered. _Unless my intuition fools me, Darrow is actually what he looks: an old man going on an archaeological expedition._

Then again, appearances could deceive.

"Chester!" Steve's voice cut through his thoughts.

Chester jerked in his chair before turning to his best friend and chess-opponent. The look in Steve's eyes was stern.

"I moved my knight." he said. "Your turn."

Steve then added in a half-whisper, "And if I were you, I'd not use the strategy you seem to be employing. It's not the best way to checkmate the other king!"

"I have my own strategy. It has worked for me in the past." Chester replied. "Sometimes one leans toward different styles of playing."

"The way you are playing now will bring the whole game crumbling down!"

"My opponent has exceptional skill. I am having trouble deciphering which strategy to use."

Steve nodded. "I know, but I have played against an opponent like this in the past. Can I suggest a more successful strategy for your chess game?"

Chester sighed in annoyance, but Steve began speaking as if he hadn't noticed.

"To play a good game and have a chance at winning, you must be calm and consider all your moves! The blunt moves you are making are very obvious to your opponent. He will realize what you are doing. Remember, some people take a game of chess very seriously. Take more time to consider your moves, alright?"

Chester made an impatient gesture for Steve to stop talking. Steve wasn't saying anything new. In the end, he knew being cautious was for the best, because he knew they would have a gruesome fate if Dollar knew their identity. Keeping the cover was the only way of keeping their lives. And because of that, Chester nodded.

Steve gave a small smile behind his mustache. "Now just take your turn."

As Chester moved his knight, he heard someone approaching their table.

Glancing up, Chester saw Jack Driscoll walking in their direction. As usual, the man's hair was disheveled, and thin stubble covered his face; the smell of animal residue emanated faintly from the poor man. To complete the set, he still looked seasick. Apparently, he was still having a hard time adapting.

"Hey there, Jack." Chester greeted heartily.

The writer half-heartedly raised a hand back in greeting.

"Denham let you out on your own, did he?" joked Steve.

"I suppose could be working on Carl's script, but I need some time out of the hold or I'll faint."

"Sit down, then." invited Chester. "Maybe you want to take a turn at chess with me or Steve."

Jack pulled a chair and sat at their table. "Sounds good to me."

The game carried on, now with Jack Driscoll as a spectator. But Chester's thoughts kept diverting from it. Steve's calls for attention were regular. Chester tried to focus on playing, but while Dollar had stopped being a magnet for his eyes, it had started being a fuel for the questions on his brain – and it was so powerful that before Chester could start debating the answer to one of those questions, two more were added to the list. Eventually, all of his brain became such a tumble of unanswered questions rolling around like barrels pushed downhill. They, in turn, started such a strong headache that his head felt like it must crack open and spill all of his nagging questions out on the floor.

"Check!" Steve's shout cut through the headache.

Chester started as if he had suddenly woken up from a dream. He rubbed his temple, took another gulp of his Coca-Cola, and then looked at his chess board. And only then, he guessed for how long he had been from the game – and how big his distraction had been.

Chester moved his king, and then Steve immediately counted.

"Checkmate!" he proclaimed.

Chester shrugged. "So it seems."

The two started reorganizing the pieces on the chessboard, preparing it for the game between Steve and Jack.

"See if you can't play better than I did, Jack."

Jack smiled wryly. "That won't be difficult. You were barely paying attention."

Chester shrugged. "It seems I was distracted."

Jack Driscoll raised an eyebrow. "By what?"

Chester was silent for a moment. He couldn't tell the real reason of his distraction to the writer, but Jack waited for an answer, and while Chester could tell it was none of the playwright's business, he didn't like being rude to people if he could help it.

In the end, he gave a quick cover.

"I was thinking of home. After all, we all miss our homes if we are away for long, don't we?"

Jack's look darkened. Chester smacked his forehead for being such an idiot. Of course Jack would be the most homesick of them all, considering how he had ended up here. Chester and Steve were here on risky business, but they were here on their own free will, and were even enjoying the cruise when they could allow themselves to it.

"Sorry, Jack."

Jack took a deep breath. "Nothing I can do about it now, is there?"

"Perhaps a game of chess can help will help distract you." Steve offered. "After all, you need attention to play chess, and if you pay attention to the game, you won't pay it to your problems."

Jack chuckled. "Maybe I should have thought of that before, Steve."

Chester turned the board slightly so that now it was between Jack and Steve. Again, Steve got the white pieces, and therefore, he played first. Jack stared at the board intently, undoubtedly considering his move. Apparently, the chess match was fulfilling its focusing function.

While Jack and Steve were engaged in their match, Chester's mind and eyes were more than free to divert to other matters. And Dollar was nearly the chosen topic again. But fortunately, another person appearing in the galley called his attention. Trying to keep Steve's instructions, Chester focused on her.

"Howdy, Miss Darrow!" he called waving enthusiastically.

Again, his words had been wrongly chosen. Jack, who was about to move a pawn jerked in his chair. The chessboard was thrown some centimeters up, and pieces of both colors spread in every direction.

Between Ann Darrow's look, Steve's half-amused and half-stern expression, and the chess pieces scattered through the galley, only one thought found place on Chester's mind.

_%#/! _

* * *

As usual, Jack Driscoll was agitated in Ann Darrow's presence. He still felt impossibly shameful at his behavior, and was also not a little afraid of facing Ann in her fullest anger. The simple presence of Ann Darrow was enough to make him bolt like a frightened rabbit, but this time he had actually caused some chaos which he felt he must put right before slinking back to his dungeon with his tail between his legs.

So, he started gathering the pieces from around the galley, delivering them to Chester and Steve whenever he got a handful, always trying not to look at Ann. Although the swaying of the ship turned the task more difficult than he expected, it didn't take very long for Jack to gather all the pieces.

Jack laid the last handful of pieces on the board. "Is everything there?"

Chester and Steve started putting the pieces on their positions on the board, but, even when they finished, there was still an empty space.

"The white queen is missing." Jack said.

His green eyes searched through the galley for the last missing piece. It didn't take long to find it, but just then the _Venture_'s rocking made it roll under the table at which Leonard Darrow, Thomas "Dollar" Davison, and the four ubiquitous giants were sitting. Jack shuddered.

He walked over to the table occupied by the six men and, not wanting to bother any of them, kneeled on the floor, his eyes wide open, paying the most attention possible to the area Jack guessed the piece would come from. He knew he looked ridiculous, but it was better than having to address Ann's uncle.

The piece remained hidden, so Jack's own attention was captured by the words Ann's uncle and Dollar were exchanging.

"So, are you sure it would be ideal to start exploring the island by the village, Darrow?" Dollar said. "It might be inhabited. The jungle at least, won't have fierce natives."

Jack tried to ignore the conversation by the two men and focused instead on the white queen that stayed stubbornly under the table and out of his sight. But Darrow and Dollar, although they talked quietly, were still loud enough for Jack to hear. And although it was bad manners to eavesdrop, Jack couldn't help divert some attention to the conversation.

"We do not know that." Darrow countered. "And even if there are not natives, there will likely be dangerous animals."

"So what? I brought guns. We won't have a thing to worry about as long as we have them."

"Guns are not infallible, Mr. Dollar. Not against animals, at least. With natives, there is a much greater chance that gunfire will scare them off."

"But animals are just stupid beasts, Darrow!" Dollar snapped in low voice. "Natives, even from an uncharted island, are smart. And if we back them into a corner, they may be desperate of furious enough to attack us!"

"But Mr. Denham mentioned his preference for filming the shoreline first."

"Denham can't mention preferences without coming to these meetings. Just because we accepted the association about the island he proposed, he isn't the one in charge. I'm the one with the cash here!"

Dread had been growing in Jack's gut as the conversation progressed, but the mention of Carl made his stomach twist.

_What does he mean about Carl being associated with him and planning to film the shoreline of some uncharted island?_

But before Jack could hear more, the deep voice of one of the goons sounded.

"Boss."

Jack looked up, and saw a gigantic pointer finger turned straight at him. Dollar, Darrow, and the other three behemoths also had realized what was happening. Ice flooded him.

_Now what am I going to do?_ He silently wondered, as if the answer would fall from the sky.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dollar bellowed.

Jack noticed the tycoon looked like he was about to order his four giants to tear Jack apart. And, like a pack of fox-hunting dogs, they seemed to be anxiously waiting for the signal. Leonard gave Jack a stern look, undoubtedly having already heard of his shameful deed through Ann's mouth.

Jack tried to focus on Dollar, although it seemed even worse than looking at Leonard. Summoning all his courage, he shrugged his shoulders. "I was merely waiting for the chess piece that I dropped to come rolling out from under the table."

Dollar's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What piece?"

As if on cue, the ship gave just the right sway, and the white queen finally gyrated toward Jack's hand.

"This piece." he explained, figuring that Dollar was bright enough to understand the rest.

Apparently, he did, but his eyes were still narrowed in suspicion.

"You could have told us to get it for you."

"I didn't want to disturb you."

Dollar kept his look trained on Jack. The writer shuddered. He had seen the same look in one of Carl's films involving a red spitting cobra staring straight at a mouse, before lunging forward to inject the deadly venom. Jack had the vivid impression that the snake had hypnotized the mouse with its eyes. And while Jack didn't think Dollar was hypnotizing him, the effect was still disturbing.

"Well, apparently, I disturbed you anyway." Jack tried to end the conversation right then and there. "I deeply apologize."

Without waiting for Dollar to do anything, Jack turned, and put the white queen on its spot on the board before moving out of the galley. He had to talk to Carl.

Carl owed him an explanation.

* * *

For a moment, Chester was transfixed by the galley's door. Jack definitely looked uneasy after leaving the galley. And he had only become so after spending all that time kneeling close to Dollar's table. What had he heard exactly while he was there? And why did Dollar look so disturbed at having one of his conversations overheard?

_Don't care about that now._ Chester told himself. _Just don't look at the door like that!_

Chester took his eyes away from the door. In an effort not to stare at Dollar and his group, Chester looked at Miss Darrow instead. After all, she was a much prettier sight.

"Well, Miss Darrow, perhaps you would like to take over Jack's place on a game of chess."

She gave him a polite smile. "Thank you, Chester. Are you playing against me?"

"Well, it was Steve's turn against Jack…" Chester started to say, before Steve cut him off.

"No worries. I can pass you the turn."

Chester nodded his thanks while Miss Darrow sat at the chair where Jack had been. Steve pushed the chessboard to them, and Chester turned it so that Miss Darrow got the white pieces.

"Ladies first, Miss Darrow." said Chester.

The two started the match, but Chester was faring little better than against Steve. Although he tried to pay attention, his brain just seemed to make out questions about Dollar. And the fact that Miss Darrow herself was clearly disturbed and barely paying attention to the game didn't help. From time to time, she glanced nervously at the table where Dollar sat. Chester figured that, for some reason, Dollar also didn't please her.

_I just wonder why exactly. _Chester thought as he absently moved a bishop.

* * *

Jack Driscoll was the type of man who considered himself as reasonable and calm, and actually felt proud at not resorting to violence. But now that he knew Carl intended to go to a potentially dangerous uncharted island and had associated himself with a gangster to get there made Jack willing to get down to the bottom of the matter. He didn't intend to use physical violence, but he wouldn't let Carl fiddle his way around the matter, either.

Finally, Jack found Carl filming a scene. Herb stood to the side to adjust the focus if necessary, and Alexandra and Bruce were playing their respective characters in front of the Bell & Howell. Jack's lips compressed. Both Bruce and Alexandra acted well enough in their film roles, but in real life both of them were just too full of themselves for the writer's taste. Show business could do that to actors.

He would wait until the scene was finished. Carl always got sullen whenever he was interrupted during the shots. So, Jack leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, waiting for the crucial word.

"Cut." Carl finally shouted after an amount of time Jack didn't care to determine. "You two were great. Now…"

Jack's long legs quickly ate up the space between him and the movie director. "I need to talk to you, Carl." Jack cut in.

Carl briefly turned to acknowledge him.

"Hey, Jack." Carl was clearly absent minded and dismissive. "Now, Bruce and Alexandra, we can…"

"You can pay attention when I'm talking to you." Jack insisted.

"I'm busy." Carl countered without even bothering to look directly at Jack. He kept his look half-focused on Bruce and Alexandra. "Like I was saying…"

Jack raised his voice. "And like I was saying, I need to talk to you, Carl. _Now._"

The uncharacteristic firmness and tone of Jack's voice finally got Carl's full attention. Jack could see the movie producer's eyes were slightly wider, no doubt in surprise.

"Alright Jack." Carl grumbled. "I just hope it is important."

Jack's eyes narrowed. "It is."

"Everyone take a break." Carl told his cast and crew. "I guess this will take some time."

"Only if you're uncooperative."

Carl's eyes again opened a bit more, but this time he didn't ask any question. He moved toward the hold, Jack close at his heels.

* * *

Carl stood in front of Jack, puffing on his pipe.

"What is all this about then, Jack?"

Jack leaned back against his lion cage, his arms firmly crossed. His demeanor was uncharacteristically stiff.

Jack got straight to the point.

"Carl, what is your destination?"

Carl looked mildly shocked. A good amount of smoke came from his mouth. The creaking of the cages caused by the ship's rocking echoed unpleasantly in Jack's ears.

Carl's look turned sulky, and he flapped his arms once, making some flaming tobacco come out of his pipe.

"Christ's sake, Jack, you interrupt me because of that? You should know damn well by now that we're going to Singapore!"

"That's not what Darrow and Dollar said."

The annoyance on Carl's face disappeared and hints of apprehension took its place momentarily. But Carl quickly tried to compose as innocent a look as he could.

"Where Darrow and Dollar are going I don't know. But I…"

"Don't treat me like an idiot. I overheard them talking about it. I also heard that you were the one who started it. What happened to Singapore, Carl?"

Carl puffed on his pipe and expelled a large cloud of smoke.

"There was a time when I planned to go to Singapore, Jack. With you not having a passport, and I having forgotten mine, I had to go to an emergency location."

"I already asked you not to treat me like an idiot, Carl."

Carl lifted his arms in an apologetic gesture. "Look Jack, the real location is much better than Singapore. We're gonna make the most successful movie ever when we get there!"

"What is the location, Carl?"

"Look, Jack, I swear to you, I'm…"

Jack's voice was hard. "Last time. Where are we going?"

Carl took another puff on his pipe.

"Very well Jack, the place has an unofficial name, but I'm warning you, it might sound dodgy."

"And that name is…"

Carl looked unflinchingly at Jack. "Skull Island."

Jack's eyes widened, and his arms fell to his sides. How a mere name could have that kind of effect on him, Jack didn't know, but the truth was that it had.

"I knew it." Carl said. "You'd also think it was suspicious. But I swear it, Jack, comparatively, Skull Island's name hasn't anything more to do with the place than…" Carl thought for a moment. "… Easter Island's, for example!"

Jack's eyes narrowed again.

"Easter Island has that name because it was discovered on an Easter Sunday, Carl."

Carl blinked twice.

"Not a very good example, it seems. Whatever, it's just a name, alright? A peculiar, but harmless name."

"The name isn't the only thing peculiar, and the island isn't harmless, judging from what I overheard between Darrow and Dollar."

Carl's eyes lit up. "And why were you eavesdropping, Jack? It's bad manners to listen to other people's conversations, you know?"

"I was looking for a piece of chess piece close to their table." Jack explained firmly.

Jack took a long breath. He immediately regretted it, after he realized he had also inhaled a dose of the scent of animal dung.

"Either way, they talked about potentially fierce animals and natives." Jack carried on. "And about having guns."

"It's an uncharted island, Jack! We never know what we may meet."

"All the more reason to avoid the place."

Carl waved his arm dismissively. "Don't worry. There are probably no natives there. And even if there are, they should be gentle as lambs."

"What if they aren't?" Jack insisted. "You may be putting us all in danger!"

Carl lifted his arms in a placating gesture, but Jack was still feeling far too upset to hear about it. "What are you hiding from me about that place? How did you even know about it?"

Jack gave Carl a brief pause to explain himself. But Carl instead used it for another thing.

"Jack, my good old friend, there is something you seem to be forgetting. My whole career is depending on this movie! This thing must be the biggest hit possible, and nothing can surpass introducing an undiscovered piece of land to the world! I fail on this one, and I'm dead! So, please, bear with me, alright? You don't want to see me in jail, do you?"

Carl puffed on his pipe again, and then, as if he had just remembered something, he added, "Besides, Jack, you owe me a favor." Carl carefully emphasized the word favor.

Jack looked shocked. "You can't be serious, Carl. You can't hold that over my head."

"Look, I am desperate enough to do so."

"I wasn't even sober!" Jack argued.

"I don't think your family would care about that. Or your readers."

"I though you were my friend." Jack spoke in a low and angry voice.

"And I though you were mine. Listen to me Jack, I'll say it again. If I don't make a success out of this picture, my career and my freedom will go down the crapper."

"That's not my fault."

"Friends take care of friends, Jack. I'll take care of you, as long as you take care of me. You think about that."

Jack could almost feel the wheels turning inside his brain. In that matter, Carl was right. Jack had not meant any harm by what he had done, but the consequences had been – to say the least, very embarrassing. Carl knew of that. And he could use the information against him. Unless Jack did as he asked.

"Alright, Carl, I'll keep quiet about this."

Carl shook Jack's hand gratefully. "You can't imagine how much that means to me, Jack."

Jack accepted the handshake without a word, the look on his eyes still rock-hard, and then moved out of the hold before Carl could come up with some new writing-instructions. After all, Jack still had some fresh air to get.

* * *

Jimmy ran up the stairs that led back to the beck as silently and quickly as he could, fear growing inside his chest. He had been going down because Mrs. Englehorn had told him to check out if the door to the closet where the chloroform was stored was still in good condition, but what he had eavesdropped between Denham and Mr. Driscoll had made him leave the task for a later time.

He already had guessed for some time that Denham wasn't going to Singapore, but he had not known the exact name of the location. Now he knew... and it was enough to spook him. Jimmy had listened to stories of a 'Skull Island' in one of the terror tales Lumpy used to tell him before sleeping during Jimmy's first year on the _Venture_. If not for Mr. Hayes and Mrs. Englehorn firmly reassuring him that it was just a story, Jimmy would have had nightmares for weeks from each time he heard it.

That was saying something, considering everything Jimmy had seen before coming to the _Venture_.

But after what he had overheard, Jimmy started to wonder if there was some truth behind Lumpy's tale.

If there was, what should he do?

The answer was obvious. Jimmy should talk to Mr. Hayes or Mrs. Englehorn, like he always did when he didn't know what to do. So far, if Jimmy hadn't known what to do about a situation, Mr. Hayes or Mrs. Englehorn did. And Jimmy had no reason to believe it would be different this time.

* * *

Ann Darrow walked toward the _Venture'_s railing with slow and heavy steps, feeling utterly worn out for a reason she didn't want to think about. The game of chess in the galley had become so unbearable that she made up a lame excuse, apologized to both Chester and Steve, and then left quietly. It had nothing to do with Chester or Steve, but with her uncle and Dollar instead. Being in the same room as the two of them was simply unbearable. It was frustrating to watch her uncle and Dollar sitting together, sometimes joined by Denham, all three of them looking absolutely obsessed with going to that hell of a place Skull Island most likely was.

In normal circumstances, Ann would be excited, but not obsessed, as her uncle now seemed to be. And she'd study Skull Island with the purpose of learning as much as she could about it. What those three were doing now was planning the way of getting the most possible profit and glory out of going there. For her part, she didn't want any of these. Money was a necessity, but it was just like opium – if one got addicted, it was impossible to stop wanting more. And glory was the same.

Whatever it was they were going to do there, Ann had already decided she wouldn't play a part in it. If her uncle wanted his place in history, she wouldn't interfere. But she also wouldn't lift a finger to help.

Not that she even had the opportunity to help. The few times she had participated in their meetings, Denham's eyes seemed to scream complains about her presence, and all three of them – even Uncle Leonard – tried to shove her out of the conversation. That hurt her almost as much as when Jack Driscoll had been a barbarian to her. Her pain was only strengthened by the fact that the only thing to do was to let Dollar and Denham to do whatever they wanted with Skull Island.

_But shouldn't I try to get my uncle out of Dollar's and Denham's influence?_ Ann questioned herself as her eyes roamed over the blue sea. _After everything he did for me, it's only fair if I try to get him out of the trouble he may be in if he gets too involved with Dollar – and Denham. _

But how could she do that? She could not do it alone, and there was no one else on the _Venture_ that could help her – not exactly because of lack of willingness, but because all the people who she trusted enough to ask for help already had enough worries.

_I guess I'm all on my own, then._ Ann thought._ But this is just too big for me to deal with by myself._

* * *

Jack Driscoll climbed up the last step of the stairs. Now that his anger at Carl had been drained out, seasickness had returned in force, making him feel as if his legs were made of lead. He desperately needed some fresh air if he wanted to produce something even remotely acceptable for the script.

But, just as he headed for the railing, he noticed that Ann Darrow was already standing there, looking out at the vast expanse of water. Jack cursed mentally. It should be the time to run away again, but currently, he just didn't have the energy for such an action. So, instead of running, he turned and walked away. There were other places on the ship he could go. Before he finished turning around, another movement caught his eye.

Jack's green eyes registered Bruce Baxter moving toward Ann in his typically haughty attitude, his brown eyes trained on her. Jack's insides twisted. For some reason, the idea of Bruce Baxter trying any sort of approach with Ann made him sick.

But why did he feel that way? After all, Ann was a free woman, and being as pretty as she was, she could certainly choose any man she wanted.

But Ann deserved a far better man that an arrogant self-obsessed movie star. And, if Ann was still remotely like Jack recalled, she would never be interested in the pig Bruce Baxter was.

_Who am I to decide that? If it's Bruce Baxter that Ann wants, I'm no one to stop it._

But Jack just couldn't turn his back and do nothing. He was – or at least had been – Ann's friend. Jack had always cared for his friends, and tried to help them if they had any trouble. Being in conflict with her would not stop him from offering help if it was needed. And after what he had done to her, helping her if she ended up having any trouble with that awful actor was the least he could do. For now, he'd just sit back and watch.

Jack found a shadowy place close enough to hear any ensuing conversation, got settled there, and waited.

Bruce finally stopped at Ann's side.

"Hello, my dear." he said.

Ann's shoulders dropped slightly as she turned to Bruce Baxter. Even from his distance, Jack could see the annoyance in her eyes.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Baxter." she said. While it was clear she tried to disguise it, Jack had known Ann well enough to hear the contained annoyance in her voice.

"Yes indeed, a lovely afternoon." Bruce Baxter said. "A blue sea, a clear sky, warm weather… one can do lovely things on a day like this."

"I was already doing something lovely until you came along and interrupted me."

From what Jack had seen so far, his impression was that Ann's reaction to Baxter looked little like the one she would have if she was attracted to him.

Baxter's tone was clearly confused, "What could you be doing on your own?"

"Looking at the sea. It is quite an enjoyable activity, when you know how to appreciate it."

"Perhaps it is." now Bruce's tone was clearly annoyed. "But I know one far better thing to do. And both of us can appreciate it."

"That would be?" Ann spoke in an uninterested tone.

"Spending some time with me." Bruce spoke.

_Now that's a guy full of himself._ Jack thought, still watching the scene intently from his vantage point.

Ann ran her blue eyes all over Bruce Baxter before shrugging and turning back at the sea.

"You're not my type." she said.

Jack felt relieved, but the relief drained away when Bruce Baxter wrapped his arms around Ann and pulled her to him.

"My dear, I am any woman's type. And you're certainly not an exception. You're just making yourself difficult."

"Why should I be making myself difficult?"

"Because any woman with half-a-brain knows how to appreciate a man like me."

Jack clenched his fist. The idea of Baxter being so close to Ann was more unsettling than he would have ever imagined. Even worse was that she had stopped making any effort to hide her real emotions.

"Yes, Mr. Baxter, you're right." Ann said. "Any woman with half a brain would know how to appreciate a man like you."

From Ann's tone, Jack could already guess what her appreciation of a man like Bruce Baxter was.

"See?" Bruce Baxter started leaning down to her.

"And the appreciation any woman with half-a-brain would make of a man like you is that you're arrogant and self-centered. You treat women like toys. You are someone a woman must definitely keep away from."

A small grin came to Jack's lips. It was typical of Ann Darrow to come up with comments like this.

Bruce sounded offended when he spoke again, but whether it was honestly or not it was unclear for Jack. "My dear, that's not correct at all. I'm actually the kind of man every woman wants to know."

"Why would that be?" Ann asked.

Jack couldn't see Bruce's look from his place, but it had clearly been enough for Ann to make a disgusted look. And Bruce's tone made Jack share Ann's feelings. "All women that have ever gotten to know me under the sheets never regretted the experience." Baxter said. "I know you're blond, but you can't be idiot enough to pass up such a chance."

Jack's hands curled into fists. So it wasn't enough to molest her, he even had to insult her? A decent man wouldn't insult any woman, or make such blunt advances on her, for that matter! Jack may have treated Ann rudely, but it had been incidental. Baxter's actions, however, were being purposeful.

And Ann seemed to be reaching her limit.

"Mr. Baxter, you have one chance to apologize, before I show you that I can be fierce when it comes right down to it." Ann's eyes seemed to have turned into two spheres of ice.

"Keep your fierceness until we are in my cabin tonight, my dear." Bruce said.

Jack's mouth went agape. And so did Ann's.

"What do you think I am?" she asked. "I'm not some floozy you'd pick up on 42nd Street!"

"That's right." said Baxter. "You're much more of a knock-out than any _floozy_ I've ever met."

Ann's eyes narrowed.

"I won't repeat it again, Mr. Baxter. If you don't apologize, I'll show a kind of fierceness different from the one you have under the sheets."

"Alright, alright." Baxter finally proclaimed his surrender. "I'll apologize."

Jack exhaled in relief. Finally, someone had managed to keep Baxter in check.

"Please accept this as an apology."

Jack could only watch in disbelief as one of Bruce Baxter's hands held Ann's head, and kept it turned toward him. Ann squirmed, but Bruce was pressed against her so tightly she could hardly move at all.

_That's it!_

An unknown force propelled Jack forward. Right before Bruce's lips touched Ann's, Jack poked Baxter's shoulder hard three times with one of his long fingers. The actor stopped in his movement, and turned his head toward him. His face fell.

"What do you want to want, Driscoll?" Bruce spoke in a tired voice, as if Jack's mere presence annoyed him.

"What do you think you were doing, Baxter?" Jack demanded.

The actor seemed unfazed. Suddenly, Jack hoped for an instantaneous and significant increase of his height and muscles. Perhaps that way Baxter wouldn't be so calm.

"I was just having a good time with this English broad." the actor said.

"The 'English broad' has a name. It is Ann Darrow."

"Oh, that's right." Bruce said, still with Ann in his arms. "But not knowing her name didn't stop me from being well on my way to have a hell of a good time with her." Bruce winked.

"Did it ever occur to you that maybe you were the only one have a 'hell of a good time'?"

Bruce laughed loudly, as if he thought Jack was insane by asking such a thing.

"Bud, all women have a good time with me!" Baxter's look turned disdainful. "The same can't be said about you, I guess."

"That's not the point. The point is that Miss Darrow was not enjoying your romantic gestures."

"Of course she was, you imbecile!" Bruce shouted.

Jack gestured toward Ann. "That can be checked easily."

Jack turned to Ann. When his green eyes found her face, the shame of what he had done again came weighing down on him. Jack felt the fleeting urge to run away, but seeing Ann in the arms of an ape was enough to galvanize his resolve.

"Ann, I mean Miss Darrow, were you enjoying your time with Mr. Baxter?"

Suddenly, nervousness flooded Jack. Now that he was almost in arm's reach of her, she would be free to take any justice she wanted. But Jack realized he deserved any punishment she wanted to inflict. A ridiculously poor attempt at playing a knight in shining armor wouldn't be enough to make her forget how he had treated her, even with their six years of friendship as a helping factor.

But, much to his surprise, she spoke with quite some calm, and any of the anger there was in her tone was clearly directed to Bruce Baxter.

"Jack, I mean Mr. Driscoll, I believe that out of the two of us, Mr. Baxter was clearly having all of the enjoyment."

"You're lying, my dear." retorted Baxter, keeping a viselike grip on her. "If you weren't enjoying it, you wouldn't be so attached to me."

"She's attached to you because you don't let go of her, you disgusting ape!"

Both Bruce's and Ann's eyes turned toward him. Neither had expected such a thing from Jack Driscoll's mouth.

Ann took advantage of Baxter's shift in attention. She quickly slipped out of his grasp, and when Baxter realized what she was doing, he made a grab for her. Ann cocked her arm back and slapped Bruce hard.

"Lay a hand on me again, and you'll get more." she warned.

Bruce rubbed his red cheek for a moment before turning to Jack with a fiery look in his eyes.

"This is your fault, you second-rate Cyrano!" Baxter shouted.

Jack placed his clenched fists on his hips. "I don't think so."

"You ruined my afternoon!" Bruce looked like a grumpy baby cut from chocolate for a month.

"I didn't ruin anything. You were the one harassing her."

"I wasn't harassing her. I was just using some masculine charm. Of course, a bookworm with a nose like yours doesn't understand what that is, do you? That's the whole point of this, isn't it? You're jealous."

Jack didn't say anything. He figured there was no point in arguing with Baxter.

Strangely, even Baxter seemed to stop giving importance to the matter, as he waved his arm in a dismissive gesture.

"Fine then, you can have her for you. After all, gorgeous as she is, I can have any woman I want. It isn't that important to lose that English bitch."

Nobody would insult Ann while Jack was around and just get away with it. When they were younger, Ann usually paid insults back with her own retort. In fact, Jack didn't recall a single occasion when defending Ann's honor had proved necessary. But this time, he'd do it, necessary or not.

Without thinking in the consequences, Jack curled his hand into a fist and punched Bruce Baxter squarely on the chin. Bruce Baxter staggered several steps backward. Ann barely had the time to move aside.

Baxter charged toward Jack, teeth and fists bared. Jack tried to dodge the punch, but Baxter managed to land it on his left eye. The impact made him give some steps backwards. Bruce ran to him for a second hit.

Jack tightened his arms around Baxter's torso, and then, he clenched one fist, and slammed it against Baxter's ribs.

The actor grunted in pain. Jack lifted one of his legs, and tried to kick Baxter's legs from under him. But Baxter dragged Jack down with him. The two of them fell on the floor with Jack on top. All the awareness Jack had of the world was lost, as he focused totally on giving Baxter what he deserved.

* * *

Ann Darrow's hands flew to her mouth. The situation was so out-of-place she barely knew how to react. She had never expected to see Jack Driscoll engaged in a brawl. Even more than that, she had never expected to see him very definitely getting the upper hand!

Deep down, under all the shock, Ann felt grateful to Jack Driscoll, for proving he wasn't so hopeless after all. Why hadn't he run away this time? She did not know, but the gratitude she felt to whatever had done it was undeniable.

Still, seeing him fighting Baxter was utterly shocking. And worse, the only thing Ann could recall how to do in the boiling mixture of emotions that flooded her totally was take her hands to her mouth and scream incessantly like a damsel in distress, "Stop that, immediately!"

Finally, the one with the power to do that came.

A giant with leather colored skin rushed to the two men brawling on the floor, tore Jack off Bruce with two very muscular arms, and trapped the writer in a viselike grip. Ann's heart jumped. The man was as big as Dollar's goons! If it was one of them who held Jack…

_No, it isn't._ Ann noticed. _None of Dollar's giants has this skin tone. This is Mr. Chaves._

The knot of fear in her chest got less tight, but it remained there. Jack was still struggling to get free, and Chaves was too strong to let him go. If Jack tried too hard, he could get hurt.

In the meantime, Bruce was getting up. He shook his head like a wet dog, and then saw Jack in Chaves' grip. The knot in Ann's heart became tighter again. Chaves wouldn't be able to hold the two of them. And Bruce seemed willing to take advantage of Jack being held in one place.

"Thanks, bud." Bruce snarled, before lunging himself at the trapped Jack.

With surprising grace for such a large man, Chaves spun left in a 90º angle, and jammed the sole of his huge boot into Bruce Baxter's diaphragm. The actor groaned as the impact threw him ten feet backwards. His limp body fell on the floor with a thump. He didn't move form the spot. His twitches and moans of pain told Ann he was alive, but he appeared to be in too much pain to get up.

Still, Jack kept struggling to get free – and get the actor.

"Mr. Driscoll, if you don't stay still, I'll crush you like a cockroach." Chaves said.

Jack's fight against the grip of Chaves' thick muscular arms kept for some more time, but it decreased gradually, until it finally stopped.

Assuming it was safe to let go, Chaves opened his arms like the pincers of a crab. Jack fell to his knees, apparently no more capable of movement than Bruce. Ann immediately rushed to him.

"Jack, are you alright?" She said sounding amazed.

Jack only gasped as he fought to regain his breath. Ann quickly probed Jack's chest, hoping Chaves hadn't cracked any of her friend's ribs. She briefly turned her eyes to the sailor.

Guessing what she meant, Chaves lifted his arms in an appeasing gesture.

"Sorry, Miss Darrow." he said. "I was just trying to put an end to the fight. I'm sorry it had to be so rough, but it was the only way."

Divided between the gratitude she felt at Chaves for stopping the brawling, and the slight anger she felt at him for inflicting potentially serious injuries on Jack, Ann chose to stay quiet and keep her probing at Jack's ribcage. Jack made almost constant grunts that indicated she had poked a bruise, but so far, no indication of broken ribs.

"Mr. Chaves! What's going on here?" bellowed Captain Englehorn.

Ann immediately looked up. The Captain was there, looking quite the picture of fury at the scene in front of him. Bruce Baxter lay on his back on the deck, Jack knelt only ten feet away from him, and Chaves stood panting behind them both. Kendra and Hayes accompanied Englehorn.

Kendra slipped past the two men and knelt at Ann's side.

"Is everything alright, Ann?"

"I am alright." Ann said. "But Jack isn't as lucky. It seems Mr. Chaves hurt him quite a bit."

Kendra turned her gaze on Chaves, glaring at him like an angry tigress.

"Is that truth, Mr. Chaves?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Chaves lowered his head covered in black hair. "But I was jus' trying to stop the fight between Mr. Driscoll and Mr. Baxter."

"What?" Englehorn, Hayes and Kendra called in unison, amazement written on every line of their faces.

"Mr. Chaves, are you saying that Baxter and Driscoll were fighting?" Englehorn shouted.

"I'd not lie, sir." Chaves said, now with faint traces of anger in his voice. "You can ask Miss Darrow if you don't believe me."

Suddenly, Ann Darrow became the focus of attention. Captain Englehorn prepared to open his mouth, but as he looked at Kendra, he closed it instead. He gave gestured to Kendra without looking her in the face. Ann noticed the tension between husband and wife was nearly palpable.

"Is that true, Ann? Jack and Baxter were fighting?"

Ann looked down in shame. The thought of being the object of a conflict between two men was not a pleasant one. She didn't know how to – or was merely incapable to – answer Kendra's question.

Fortunately, Jack saved her the trouble.

"It's true." he said.

Now that he had raised his head, Ann could see the bruise beginning to form on Jack's left eye. It would look a lot worse tomorrow for sure. But still, he was in a better condition than Baxter, who had a bleeding nose and was still doubled over trying to catch his breath. Lumpy and Choy had shown up and were both checking on the actor. Both men seemed very amused by the situation.

"And what would make you start a fight with Mr. Baxter?" Englehorn demanded.

"He was insulting Ann, I mean Miss Darrow." Jack said. "And he was taking advantage of the situation by…"

Jack threw a sideways look at Kendra, as if he couldn't finish the sentence by his own words. Kendra seemed to get what he meant, as the look on her face grew even angrier. Apparently, so did Englehorn, who took his cap off and wiped off his forehead with the back of his hand, and asked in a tired voice, "What are we going do with that man?"

"What are you gonna do with who?"

All the eyes turned to the one who had spoken. Carl Denham was there, followed by his crew and leading lady. Alexandra May's eyes widened at the sight of Bruce lying on the floor.

Her hands flew to her mouth, and the actress ran forward and knelt at the actor's side.

"Bruce, you poor little thing!" she cried. "Are you very hurt, are you? What happened to you? Who did this to you?"

Denham's eyes turned to Englehorn, anger almost making them to burst out.

"Englehorn, I know you're a jealous and protective husband, but just because Bruce decides to lay his hands on your wife it doesn't mean you can start wrecking him! I need him in good condition to make this movie so I can_ pay_ you, and you're not helping it!"

Englehorn put his cap back on, and moved toward Denham, grabbing him by the collar.

"Denham, if you want to blame someone, blame your writer, because he is the one who punched Baxter." Englehorn growled. "And if I were you, I'd keep as quiet as possible until the end of the voyage, because I can't bear your voice anymore!"

The last sentence of the Captain seemed lost on Denham, as his brown eyes turned to Jack.

"You hit Bruce, Jack?"

"I did."

"You?" Denham echoed.

"Yes, Carl, me."

"You?"

"I already said it was me!" Jack repeated. "Did you get it the third time, or do you want me to make you a drawing?"

Denham stood in silence for a moment, too amazed to actually be able to say long sentences. But when he recovered his ability for that, he fell into another of his lectures.

"For (&#'s sake, Jack, I ask you not to ruin my movie, and in ten minutes you start bashing in my leading man! What in the hell made you do that?"

Jack paused as if searching for an explanation. Kendra took advantage of the pause and burst in.

"Jack Driscoll was only putting your actor in his place. Baxter can't keep himself content unless he has all the women on his ship for himself, even if they are completely uninterested in him or _married_! He has his lead actress to lay his hands on during the love scenes, isn't that enough? Even all of my crewmen behave better than he does!"

"What do you mean with all the women? There's only Alexandra, and you, and…"

Ann saw Denham finally noticed her. She gave him as hard a glare as she got. Denham looked like he would jump backwards when he met her eyes, although he didn't.

Ann rubbed her stinging hand. If not for that, she'd probably take the chance to slap Carl Denham for making her uncle sell his soul to the Devil.

Denham took off his straw hat and waved it like a fan in front of his face, sighing in hopelessness. He put it back on, and then turned to Jack.

"Jack, since when are a knight in shining armor?" he shouted.

Jack didn't reply, but it seemed Denham also wasn't giving him a chance to it, as he carried on, "You're my writer, you're supposed to sit in the hold and write, not to stroll out on deck and get Bruce's hands off of a stupid, stuck-up, English…"

Jack bolted upright, and flashed toward Denham, leaning over him. Denham's speech halted instantly. The two men's noses were almost touching.

Jack spoke slowly and deliberately. "Stop. There."

Denham, quite shorter than Jack, was arching backwards so much he was about to fall on his bum.

"Alright, Jack, calm down." Denham whispered. "Don't kill me."

Denham cleaned sweat from his brow with a handkerchief, before he carried on.

"Perhaps you need some rest. You know, you can have the rest of the day off. Besides, Bruce's face needs some, uh, time off as well."

"Mistah Baxter's face no busted, Mistah Denham." Choy said. "Only nose bleeding."

"Blood can be cleaned." Denham said, looking somewhat relieved.

"But it looks like a few 'o his ribs are cracked-at the least bruised." Lumpy added. "But nothing life threatening."

"That's good, then." Chaves said, looking genuinely relieved. "Looks like I didn't kick him too hard."

Ann decided she had already heard enough. Getting up, she moved quickly out of the place. She had to talk to Jack now.

* * *

Ann found that Jack had slipped away while she had not been paying attention, so she left the scene of the brawl and went looking for him. She found him sitting cross-legged on one of the four large tarp-covered lifeboats the _Venture_ had, staring out at the sea. She walked slowly toward him. She wanted to talk to Jack Driscoll, but that at the same time, she was afraid of getting there. Anxiety once again crawled its way inside her.

That in itself wasn't a surprise. After the inconceivably rough experience that the first meeting with Jack Driscoll on this ship had turned out to be, it was only natural Ann was everything but calm about talking to him again. After all, as much as she knew, Jack could either treat her roughly or run away. And any hints suggesting the opposite were faint.

But the way Jack had taken her out of Bruce Baxter's lecherous arms and had honestly taken an insult to her far worse than an insult to him had left her heart warmer.

_Don't feed false hopes, Ann Darrow. Jack could turn away from you again._

But Ann tried to quiet her pessimistic side. Jack had defended her honor, and had been quite upset at seeing Baxter behaving like he did. Jack had even directly addressed her, although he seemed somewhat nervous. Ann believed this was a good time for her to try to resume her friendship with him. Or, at least, she _wanted_ to believe it.

It wasn't as if she had a lot to lose, Ann recalled bitterly. If Skull Island was real at all, the _Venture_ should reach it in as early as two weeks, four at the maximum. Trying to make the last days of the journey happier would not be a loss.

She finally reached the lifeboat. Jack seemed unaware of her arrival. The sound of the waves on one side and the pulsing of the ship's engines on the other were totally off-rhythm with Ann's heartbeat. Taking a deep breath of the salty air, she finally summoned enough courage for her first word.

"Jack?" She said hopefully.

Jack startled and then turned toward Ann. She braced herself either for his rudeness or his escape, but neither happened. The look in his eyes grew somewhat uneasy, but he stayed there, and he kept eye contact with her. The anxiety inside Ann decreased. This was a start.

"Hello."

"Jack, can I talk to you?" She said slowly.

The unease in Jack's eyes increased, but he gave her a small nod. He offered her a hand.

"Do you want help to climb up?"

"No, thank you."

Ann put her hands flat on the edge of the lifeboat, and hoisted herself on to the top of the tarp. She sat down cross-legged at Jack's side.

Ann tried to find the right words to say, but her mouth somehow had refused to make any sound. Jack kept looking at her for a moment longer. She looked right back, but eventually, the two of them turned their eyes out at the sea. Both were absolutely silent, but Ann thought the quietude between her and Jack somehow did not seem strange or unsettling, as if the silence was speaking for both her and her friend.

Jack cleared his throat. "Are you alright? Baxter didn't hurt you did he?" His voice hardened at the last question.

Ann turned to him with a startle. The calm between them seemed to have been suddenly torn.

"He didn't." said Ann. "_You_ weren't so lucky, though." she said. "After that punch you took, your left eye is bound to match your hair."

Jack just shrugged in indifference.

"At least Mr. Chaves didn't break any of your ribs, right?"

"He could have if he had wanted to. It looks like the man knows how to measure his strength better than one would guess."

Jack's look again became ashamed, and he turned his gaze away from Ann.

"I would deserve broken ribs, though. And much more."

Ann's mouth dropped in shock. She quickly covered it with her hand for not to look rude, but the amazement was overwhelming.

"Why?"

"Don't pretend you don't know."

"I don't."

And she honestly didn't.

Jack turned his eyes back to her. He still seemed afraid, but at the same time he looked almost resigned to take whatever would come next.

"You haven't forgotten what I did to you." It was not a question.

Ann's eyebrows raised in understanding.

"I knew you hadn't." Jack said. "You have a good memory."

Jack inhaled deeply, as if he was summoning some bravery.

"If you want to mete out your justice upon me, I'll accept it. It's the least I deserve, after behaving like such a brute."

Ann remained quiet.

Jack continued. "I'm sorry, Ann." he finally apologized. "I didn't mean to be such a beast. I wasn't myself. This damned rocking just makes me so sick."

"Jack…"

"Of course, that is no excuse."

"Jack…"

"But between being kidnapped, sleeping in the hold, and being seasick…"

"Jack!"

Jack stopped his nonsensical talk. Hesitantly, Ann reached forward and lightly touched Jack's hand.

"Jack, I won't lie to you. I was indeed very hurt after how you treated me. I have also been hurt that you have been avoiding me. It just seemed to me that for you, our whole friendship just had never existed. But after today, I can see it did. It only needed the right tug to be brought out."

Jack sat silently for a long moment, absorbing Ann's words. Ann knew she didn't have much of a skill with speeches, and she feared the American frankness she had learned during her years away from England could have spoiled everything.

Jack again looked her in the eyes. Now there was no fear in his look, but he still looked smashingly ashamed.

"Thank you, Ann. You're truly the best friend I ever had. I don't deserve that much."

After taking a deep, breath, Jack added, "But I swear I'll do everything I can to never hurt you again."

Ann looked back at Jack. "That is enough for me."

The two turned their heads back to the blue sea, silence again settling between them. Now, in spite of all her fears about what could happen on this voyage, Ann felt some relief. After all, her making up with Jack meant not everything was lost. Perhaps it would be the same way about whatever plans Dollar had for Skull Island and those who went there.

Or so Ann wanted to hope.

* * *

_Well, I hope you readers liked the new version of this chapter- if you even read it attentively enough and have a good enough memory to find out the altered bits in it. If you didn't... well, no one is going to die because of that - although I hope you did find them._

_Well... if you haven't yet, please... review now._


	13. Chapter 13: Memories and wonderings

_Hello to all of you, my dear readers. Yes, I know the title of this chapter may be different from what you remember in the initial version, but well... I recently got a review to my fanfic, and well, the reviewer introducer a number of points - good points, for that matter - which made me rethink the way how I was developing this fanfic. I went back quite a bit to rework the story - the reworking started on chapter 10 - but well, the real rework starts now. I advise you to read back to chapter 10, but the changes in the three previous chapters are minor - although existant. What you initially knew as chapter 13 is now two chapters - this one, and the next. I hope you're not too angry at me for making you read back such a long piece of fanfic._

_I hope you enjoy this chapter. As a bonus treat, I'm including an event of American history in it - although only as a brief mention._

_Now that this is over, let's begin._

* * *

**Chapter 13 – Memories and wonderings**

_Indian Ocean, October 27th, 1933_

As the sun sank slowly below the horizon, it gave both the sky and the sea an orange overtone. Despite the sun going down, however, the temperature remained high. The _Venture_ chugged on, leaving the same foamy trail as it always did while it kept its route through the Indian Ocean.

On the tramp steamer, Kendra Englehorn looked at the sun disappearing below the water with unseeing eyes. As she leaned on the railing, a light breeze blew through her loose hair. Normally, she thought of the sun setting on the sea as one of the most beautiful sights ever, in spite of the countless times she had watched such a thing. But these days, there was nothing she could truly enjoy. The memory of her argument with Eric was too strong in her mind for any positive feeling to show itself in full.

Now, the unsettled feeling in the pit of her stomach wasn't even because of his plan of looking for that accursed island. She still didn't agree with the idea, but she understood Eric saw it as their only option for their desperately needed profit. What was really painful to her was recalling how she had treated him.

Kendra tried to keep the memory out of her mind, but it kept playing over and over in her brain, immune to all her attempts to repress it.

She had insulted him. She had nearly slapped him. A good wife wouldn't have shouted at her husband like that, and certainly wouldn't have turned her back on her husband when he needed her.

_But does Eric really need me?_ Kendra wondered. _He got along pretty well as captain for two years before I came. And as nothing serious happened on the ship since we argued – excluding Bruce Baxter's troubles with Ann and Jack - Eric has been doing well without my help. He can carry on perfectly without my help. _

Kendra buried her face in her hands at the thought. If Eric was doing so well without her help, had she become totally useless to him? If she had, then what would happen once they got back to New York? Would Eric want a divorce?

No, he couldn't. He couldn't want a divorce! Not because he didn't need her, anyway. Although Kendra's commanding skills and nautical knowledge were better than those of the average man, Eric had never kept her around because of that. At first, it had been because he had been sorry for her. Later, it had been because he loved her – and it had been that way until about three weeks ago, when that argument happened.

_What if Eric doesn't love me anymore?_

She and Eric had barely acknowledged each other for about three weeks, and their few silent moments together had been almost unbearable. She had started the accursed argument. Why would Eric still love her after that?

The thought made Kendra feel as if her heart was being ripped open. The idea of Eric not loving her was too bad to consider.

Kendra wept bitterly. How could she have been so careless with the most precious thing in her life? Eric had been the sun that lit her life for years now, how could she obscure it with so many thick clouds?

_Stop crying, you idiot!_ Kendra scolded herself. _Tears won't bring him back to you! _

But she couldn't help it. She had to drain her misery out somehow.

"Kendra?" a familiar voice said.

Kendra startled. She looked aside and saw Ann accompanied by Jack Driscoll. Both of them looked concerned as they looked at her. Kendra wiped the tears off her eyes with her forearm and then looked at the two of them. Lately, it had been common to see the two of them together. The happiness that usually radiated from both of their faces as they caught up on the sixteen years they had been separated was strong enough for even Kendra to be coaxed into a smile.

But right now, neither Ann nor Jack seemed focused on enjoying their good luck.

Ann spoke again. "Are you alright?"

Kendra sniffed, and then tried to put on the most normal voice she could. "I am not crying."

Ann folded her arms across her chest. "I think you are."

"I don't know what you are talking about." Kendra said airily.

"But I saw you." Ann insisted.

"I'm not."

"Yes you _are_."

"I am not." Kendra was starting to sound rather irritated.

Jack butted in. "That's right, you are not."

"Yes I am!" Kendra said adamantly.

When she realized what she said, she gasped. Her hands flew to her mouth. Ann sent Jack a look that was both grateful and reproachful. Jack shrugged as if to apologize. Ann leaned on the railing at Kendra's right, and Jack at Kendra's left. Ann put an arm around Kendra's shoulders. Kendra felt a little bit better. Knowing she had some support made Kendra feel slightly better. On an ordinary journey, she would be by herself in such a situation. No member of the crew was close enough to her for Kendra to feel comfortable if they put an arm around her shoulders, except maybe Jimmy. But the poor boy always seemed too bewildered to know what to do when he saw her like that, although she could see the pity and sadness in his eyes for not being able to help.

Ann patted Kendra on her forearm. "Now that you confessed that you really are crying, do you mind telling us why?"

Kendra shifted on the railing. Voicing the matter out would bring little relief to her. Worse, it could even make it more real. Her look shifted from Jack to Ann.

Jack leaned backwards. "I'll just leave and let you two ladies talk."

Kendra put a staying hand on Jack's arm. "Don't go. It's alright Mr. Driscoll. In fact, please stay. You and Ann shouldn't have to be separated just because I am a fool."

Jack sat down again. "That's a pretty harsh judgment of someone as intelligent as you appear to be, Mrs. Englehorn."

"I have been a complete fool…Oh, Eric." Kendra dissolved into a wave of sobs.

Jack looked at Ann and mouthed behind Kendra's back, _Who's Eric? _

Ann mouthed back, _the Captain._

Jack's mouth formed an _O_ of understanding.

"Is there anything we can do?" Ann asked. She laid a soothing hand on Kendra's back.

Kendra dug a large white handkerchief out of her trousers' pocket and wiped her eyes and nose with it; she shook her head.

"If you want to know, I'm crying over spilled milk. Or rather, a shattered marriage."

"Surely it can't be that bad?"

"I know you and your husband are angry with each other, any idiot can see that, but you can't be that angry." Jack said.

Kendra kept silent, looking at neither Ann nor Jack. Jack's eyes widened slightly.

"Or can you?" the writer voiced carefully.

"Eric has a temper." Kendra said. "And I was just awful to him. I know what makes him angry, and I said everything I could think of. And that is not everything."

Jack's eyes widened even more. "You hit him?" He guessed.

"I tried to slap him."

Jack started to pat her back gently in an attempt to calm her down, but Kendra glared at him, and he stopped. She knew the writer well enough to know he was not trying to take advantage of her, but still, having a man other than Eric touching her like that seemed too intimate. Even having him leaning on the railing at her side was already a bit beyond standards. If Eric saw that now, he'd certainly demand explanations.

"Listen, I'm aware I don't know about the exact reason of your conflict, but does it justify throwing your marriage away? Haven't you been happy with Captain Englehorn so far?"

Kendra pondered Jack Driscoll's words for a moment. Part of her knew that he was right. It was difficult to put into words what she was thinking and how she really felt.

"I have been happy with him." Kendra finally managed.

"So you don't want to be happy with him anymore?" Ann asked.

"I want to be happy with him more than anything. I don't know if he wants to be happy with me anymore."

"I've seen the way he looks at you, Mrs. Englehorn. Even now, after your fight." Jack said.

"Fights are not the end, you know." Ann encouraged. "Look at how Jack and I are right now. Best of friends again."

Kendra sighed. Both Ann and Jack were right. But if Eric didn't want her back…

_No._ Kendra thought firmly._ Eric can't be that angry at me. We managed to solve all the arguments we've had so far. We'll manage to solve this one._

But still, Kendra had never attacked the very essence of Eric's character before. Her fear had driven her to it. It would be a risk, but one she simply could not avoid. Kendra was used to taking risks. Helping capture live animals was a risk. Being almost permanently on a ship was a risk. When she had come here for the first time with Eric, there had also been a risk. But in the end, those risks had been worth it. Hopefully this one also would be. Kendra got up and wiped the tears off her cheeks. She turned to face her new friends and took each by one hand.

"Thank you for listening." She said. "I feel much better now."

Ann smiled at her.

Jack didn't smile, but the wholeheartedness was obvious in his voice when he said, "Good luck, Mrs. Englehorn."

* * *

Jack shifted along the railing, closing the space that had been created by Mrs. Englehorn's departure. Now that she had gone away, he and Ann could enjoy the sunset, as they had been preparing to do before Ann noticed Kendra's distress.

Now that he'd managed to overcome his seasickness, Jack could enjoy things more. He gave a deep, tranquil sigh. Being at Ann's side and enjoying the sunset felt like the most natural thing in the world to him, even more than when they had been friends sixteen years ago.

He briefly wondered if Ann was becoming more than a friend to him. But he quickly forgot about that possibility. Ann's forgiveness didn't mean she'd become anything else.

Jack turned and glanced at Ann for a moment before again casting his eyes heavenward. He'd never felt the need to look at Ann whenever they had been enjoying something together sixteen years ago. But now he did. And whenever he looked at Ann, he found her to be the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, not only because of her sky-blue eyes, platinum curls, and pale skin, but also because he liked her as a person.

But recently, when he looked at Ann with a bigger amount of attention, he'd been noticing another thing.

Lately, although Ann was usually happy, Jack had noticed that sometimes she looked troubled. Most of those times seemed to be when Ann was close to her uncle. Because of that, and the fact Ann never joined her uncle whenever he sat with Dollar or Carl as they planned the expedition to Skull Island, Jack realized Ann must have something against the place to be so apprehensive. Jack had tried to coax her into speaking to him about 'whatever was disturbing her', but whenever he tried, she pretended to be mute until Jack dropped it.

As much as he wanted to help, Jack had learned that the reason for her apprehension was a private matter. And so, the only option he had left was distracting her from it.

Jack marveled at his determination to help her. The only thing he'd ever been so determined about before was producing a good play. He had wanted to help Ann back when they were kids, but this was a new level of persistence.

Jack opened his mouth, but before he could start speaking to Ann, someone cried out his name.

"JACK!"

Taken by surprise, Jack jumped. He wasn't startled for long, however; he knew to whom the voice belonged. Jack got up from the crate, and turned around to address Carl. He looked, as he usually did, annoyed at seeing Jack with Ann.

"Hey Carl. What can I do for you?" Jack wondered why he asked a question whose answer he already knew.

Carl placed one of his hands on his hips and started gesturing with the other.

"Why are you hanging around with this woman when you are supposed to be down there writing?" Carl said, agitated. "I need more scenes for the movie. I can't make them if you're slacking off up here with some English broad!"

Jack took a deep breath in order to calm himself down. He hated the way Carl talked about Ann. Ever since Jack and Ann had become friends again, Carl had taken to berating Jack for spending any time at all away from the script.

"Come on, Carl. I'm keeping up with your filming schedule. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. Besides, I'm on a break enjoying the company of Miss Darrow."

Carl did not seem convinced.

"Jack, I know you need some free time – we all do – but I've told you time and time again, broads will distract you faster than anything else."

"And I've told you time and time again, a little healthy distraction is just what I need on this forsaken rusty bucket of bolts. I can't see any reason for me not to spend my time with Ann."

Carl prodded Jack in the chest. "I'll give you two reasons. First," Carl lifted one finger. "…she's a woman, and like I said, women are distractions, dangerous ones. Two," he lifted another finger. "She's English, and English are…"

"Three," Jack cut in. "I'm a grown man, and I can take care of myself. Four, I am not your employee, so back off, Carl."

"For Christ's sake, you should know how women are!" shouted Carl. "And the English ones are the worst! I'm doing this only to save you from a big fat mistake. All the English women I have ever know have been prissy, stuck up bitches who…"

Jack didn't give Carl a chance to finish. As always, the insult to Ann sent a rush of fury through his veins. He grabbed Carl's collar roughly and pulled him closer.

"If you can't be respectful to her, get out of here."

Carl wrenched free from Jack's grip on his collar.

"See, Jack? Look at the effect she is already having on you! I'm warning you. Get away from her."

"You keep pushing the issue, Carl, and you won't have a script. I mean it."

Carl glared at Jack for a few moments. Jack could almost see the gears turning inside the movie producer's brain. He seemed to be pondering about a way to convince Jack to get away from Ann. Fortunately, now, Carl didn't seem to feel up to it, because he just grumbled and turned away.

_And good riddance!_ Jack thought as he watched Carl's retreating back.

* * *

As Jack looked at the exiting movie producer, Ann looked at her favorite writer and best friend far more intently than she usually would look at him, or at any man. She tried to keep her look neutral, but a spark of warmth blossomed inside her, as it always did whenever Jack Driscoll defended her from Carl Denham or anyone else who harassed her – namely, Bruce Baxter and Alexandra May. She couldn't deny her surprise at the fact Jack had defended her from Denham far more fiercely than he usually did, but that also made the warmth stronger and more pleasant.

The fact Jack was so willing to defend her wasn't the only thing that caused that warmth. It seemed that these days, doing anything with him was enough to stir that warmth, so odd and pleasant at the same time. In fact, even the simple action of looking at him was enjoyable, enough so to bring a sigh of pleasure from her lips.

Sometimes she wondered if that came from the fact Jack Driscoll was starting live up to her dreams, but the fact Jack was now as much her friend as he had been sixteen years ago didn't mean her dreams could come true.

Or did it?

Jack massaged his temples, and then turned his eyes toward her. "I'm sorry, Ann." he said.

Ann raised her eyebrows. "For what?"

"For looking like a brute." he said. "I know I was rude to Carl, but I just can't stand it when he's so insulting."

Ann sighed. As pleasing as it could be to see Jack being so willing to defend her, it disturbed her that Jack took Denham's insults toward her to heart. It would be a lie to say Denham's insults had no effect on her, but Jack was much more affected than Ann herself despite the fact that she was the insulted one.

"Jack, I already told you that even I don't let Denham's comments bother me, so they shouldn't bother you either."

"But he is insulting _you_." Jack said firmly. As soon as that came out of his mouth, he stopped, as though he feared to have said too much.

Ann gave him a small smile as the warmth in her chest flared again.

"I still think you shouldn't let his comments have an effect on you." she said. "But it's sweet of you to be so willing to defend me."

Ann took a deep breath of the salty air, and then said, "You'd think he'd have grown out of it, though, being associated with my uncle for weeks now."

Now that she thought of it, Denham had never picked on her uncle again since their association – it was only on her. He was probably only restrained from doing the same to Uncle Leonard because it wouldn't help to their association.

"I'm sorry, Ann, but the only answer I can think of is that some things never change." Jack said in a regretful voice.

His answer could be simple, but it was the truth. There were some things that just didn't change.

"Some things do change, though." Jack carried on.

Ann stood straighter. She was both interested in Jack's words and somewhat wary of what would come next.

"Our lives, for example." Jack said. "Do you remember what it was like sixteen years ago?"

Ann smiled. "Of course I remember. You were already saying you'd be a writer and I…" Ann's cheeks became pink, but she finished the sentence, "well, I kind of looked forward to be your assistant.

Jack's eyebrows rose. "You did? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I guess it was because I didn't want to ruin your career." Ann said, the pink in her cheeks deepening.

With Jack still having his eyebrows raised, Ann added, "Let's face it, society of the time thought the only thing women were good to do was wash the dishes, sew clothes, and look after children. If I joined you as an assistant, society would think badly of both of us."

"You still could have told me." Jack told in low voice. Ann thought he sounded offended for her having hidden something from him for so long.

"I wouldn't have had a problem with that."

"We were still young. I wanted to wait until we were older to be certain of what I wanted to do."

Ann's look became sadder, and her voice more choked, as she added, "And then I was forced to go through a path I'd never planned when my parents died."

Jack gave a deep sigh.

"That's what I meant. None of us had ever thought such a change would happen to our lives. And yet, it did."

"That change was thrown into my life, Jack." Ann said. "You had already your future as a writer quite established when I went away with my uncle."

"That's true." Jack said. "But that was because of you."

Ann had known almost since the beginning of their friendship that he liked to write, although more as a pastime than as a true passion. She was probably the first person to whom Jack had shown his written works, and it was only because of the quality those had she had encouraged Jack to get in Mrs. Melville's writing challenge.

She was brought back to reality by Jack's voice. "And I never really got to thank you properly for that."

And then, as if some switch had been turned on, the look in Jack's eyes changed – to one she had never seen before, and that took her breath away for a moment. She had never seen Jack – or any man, for that matter – looking at her like that. And yet, the only discomfort that came from it was from the fact that it was a new experience. The same warmth from before returned, only now it was stronger, and accompanied by a feeling of butterflies fluttering inside her stomach.

"You don't really need to thank me, Jack." Ann said. "Friends help each other. All I did was giving you a helpful push."

Jack smiled and then reached out for her. He lightly stroked her cheek with his fingertips. A surge of electricity seemed to come from them, spreading through her skin. Ever so slowly, Jack tucked one of her curly strands of hair behind her ear. Ann's blood rushed through her veins, as she closed her eyes.

Jack moved his hand from behind her ear, and started running his fingertips down her cheek. In an impulse, Ann took her hand to his and pressed it closer. Having only his fingertips touching her didn't seem enough. Fortunately, Jack didn't oppose her actions. Instead, he caressed her cheek again, this time with his whole hand.

His hand left her cheek and then it slid around her shoulders. Ann turned around and leaned back against Jack's chest and then took up both of his hands in her own. She ran the tips of her slender fingers along the backs of Jack's hands, and when she did, he sighed. If enjoying the sunset before with Jack had been wonderful, doing so with in his arms was pure bliss.

Right at that time, a dolphin jumped out of the water in front of their eyes, soon followed by another and another, until there were at least five dolphins swimming and jumping alongside the tramp steamer. It was amazing how dolphins seemed to be attracted to ships, as if they wanted to say 'hello' to the people on board. Ann wished she knew how to tell them how beautiful she thought they were.

"That's funny." Jack said. "I thought that at this time of the day, the dolphins would be getting ready to sleep, like everyone else."

Ann nodded. She was no expert on the matter, but during the other times she had seen dolphins, it had been earlier on the day, not when the sun was setting. She had nothing to complain about that, though, because the time of the day didn't make watching the dolphins any less enjoyable. That was, until a particular dolphin she had failed to notice before jumped out of the water very close to the ship.

Ann gasped at what she saw. The dolphin's back and sides were covered in scars. Ann guessed that it had been attacked by a shark. A wave of acid churned up in her stomach at the sight. Ann had seen animals struggle for survival many times while on expeditions with her uncle, but seeing injuries made by sharks was just sickening to her.

Almost immediately, Ann felt Jack holding her tighter. In response, she leaned further into his chest.

"It's alright." he whispered.

Ann nodded, grateful for the gesture, and by his understanding of how the sight disturbed her.

"Poor dolphin." she said. "He must have suffered so much, being bitten by a shark like that."

"I know." Jack said. "But at least, he escaped, and other than the scars, he is alive and well."

His tone seemed to add "Some weren't so lucky." And Ann knew exactly what he meant by that.

As the dolphin kept leaping in front of her, her mind wandered back to a day more than seventeen years ago. Jack and his family had invited her to go with them to Spring Lake, New Jersey. As they had been going there partly to spend the week of Independence Day, Ann had hesitated at first, because she was English, and therefore that holiday had a very different connotation for her than for Jack. But the summer of 1916 had been so hot that she'd begged her parents to let her go to the beach with Jack's family so she could spend some days at the beach.

_Things had been going perfectly. But two days after the holiday Jack had celebrated, things took a gruesome twist._

_She and Jack were floating on their backs in waist-deep water. The coolness of the water felt like she was in paradise._

_But a then panicked shout broke through her relaxation. She leapt to her feet hastily, having the impression that she had heard a woman screaming that the man in the red canoe had tipped over. Looking around to see what was happening, she saw two lifeguards rushing to the man's rescue – and then, way beyond the safety lines, she saw the man himself, splashing in the water. One of his arms appeared red, and, as she tried to listen better, she had the impression she heard him screaming._

_Jack immediately grasped her by her wet shoulders._

"_We'd better get out of here, Ann." he said, more than an edge of uneasiness in his voice._

_A queasy feeling of unease growing in her stomach, Ann followed Jack's suggestion, but she stayed on the first line of the crowd that was gathering on the beach where the boat would come ashore._

_Ann's unease grew stronger. She'd recently read on the newspaper about the death of a man named Charles Vansant, which had happened five days earlier, and more than 70 kilometers to the south, at Beach Haven, New Jersey. According to the New York Times, the culprit was a fish, 'presumably a shark'. But Ann had her reservations about that. Shark attacks were part of terror stories, not real life._

_Indeed? A voice questioned in the back of her mind, bringing the red in the man's arm back to her mind's eye._

_Ann tried to ignore it, but it was hard, just like trying to forget the choking feeling that her wet swimsuit and the queasiness on her stomach had created. When she and Jack had been in the water everything had seemed so peaceful. Now, everything seemed to be turning wrong._

_After what seemed like an eternity, the rowboat finally came ashore. The looks on the two lifeguards' faces told her more than a year's worth of newspapers. And she didn't like the information they gave her._

_Finally, she, like the others on the first row of the crowd, caught a glimpse of the man's body. The first thing she saw was his face. But then, she looked down._

_And what came next was hell._

_High-pitched screams erupted all around her. Women fell down like empty sacks or fled as if they were being chased by the Devil himself. The atmosphere was flooded with a suffocating reek to a mix of shock, terror, and disgust._

_Ann fell on her hands and knees at the full sight of the body the lifeguards set down on the beach. Two red stains quickly formed on the sand in front of two holes where the lower parts of the man's legs had once been attached. Bone protruded from the man's leg as though the meat had been shaved off like a carrot's peel. Blood flowed from an injury on his abdomen._

_Wave after wave of acid churned in her stomach._

_The screams of the still conscious women around her seemed to come from very far away. For a moment, Ann wondered why she, a fifteen year old girl, hadn't fainted when older women had. Part of her wished she would._

_I want to get out of here. Ann begged in her mind. Please, I want to get out of here! _

_However, her desire to get away wasn't enough to get her to move._

_Her stomach kept revolting. Bile rose through her, but even then, her body refused to move._

_Two hands grasped her sides and started dragging her through the sand. She dimly noticed that the mangled body was gone from her field of vision, but its picture had been stamped on her mind. Her stomach kept churning. _

_The pair of hands let her go, and, an instant later, she heard the soft thump of someone kneeling beside her._

"_Ann." said Jack in a tight voice. "Ann."_

_Ann finally unglued her eyes from the sand, to turn them toward Jack's face. His look was distraught, disgusted, and shocked. But even so, he started rubbing her back and upper arm gently, clearly trying to calm her down in the best way he could. Ann wrapped her arm around his torso, and started crying on his shoulder, as if her current feelings would somehow be drained that way. And, although her emotions weren't soothed in any way, at least the picture of the mangled body stopped coming to her mind._

"_Are you alright?" he managed, sounding deeply sick, as though struggling not to vomit._

_Ann didn't answer. After a blissful moment of absence, the picture of the mutilated man came back to her. Ann wrapped her arms around Jack even tighter. Jack hugged her back. Tears kept coming down her face, fuelled by her shock and fear._

_And the two held each other like that for longer than they realized._

Since then, sharks had been the main creatures she didn't find to be part of the beautiful world they lived in.

There was a clench in her stomach at the sight of the scarred dolphin, but as Jack held her gently, she felt herself calming down. After all, this dolphin was alive, although marked for life by the ordeal he'd faced.

As the dolphins fell back in the water and swam away, Ann looked at the horizon. Unease started to creep through her. Her eyes flicked from one place to another nervously. She knew Skull Island was somewhere out there, and if real, they would get there very soon. Just like the poor dolphin had been marked by the shark's mouth, Valdemar had been marked by Skull Island, although in a different way.

Ann wondered how deeply marked all of them would be by Skull Island.

But with Jack's arm around her shoulders and her head leaning against his chest, the idea of going to Skull Island, while unsettling, was not overwhelming. It was as if the fact Jack was with her meant everything would be alright.

The sound of a throat being cleared got her attention.

Ann looked aside and saw Neves standing there, a ukulele held in his left hand. She had to do a great deal of effort to stop herself from glaring at him. Usually, she was fond of Neves, but she didn't like the fact he'd broke through her moment with Jack.

Neves seemed to realize that he'd come in a bad moment, because he said, "I'm sorry for interrupting, Miss Darrow, but the others sent me to call you… they're waiting for you at the usual spot."

Neves didn't say more, but it seemed he knew that was enough. And the ukulele in Neves' hands told her everything. The crew was organizing another of those musical performances, and they wanted her to come, as she now always did.

Neves' eyes locked on her shoulders, and she realized Jack still had his arms around them. Jack also seemed to realize, because he immediately removed his arms. Ann's heart slumped in disappointment. She'd been enjoying his touch far too much.

"However, if you decide you're not up to come, you can go, I won't blame you." Neves said in a disappointed voice.

Looking at Jack, he added, "If you want to come, you're welcome, Mr. Driscoll."

"No, thank you." Jack immediately said to the sailor.

Ann understood why. Neves could be inviting Jack to come with them, but a good share of the crewmen didn't seem to really like Jack, at least not since he and Ann had started getting along again. It was as if Jack had become some sort of obstacle on their way that they couldn't overcome. But even on a normal occasion, Jack wouldn't feel at ease with the crew of an old tramp steamer.

Turning his eyes toward Ann, Jack added, "But you can go, Ann. I wouldn't dream of depriving you from having fun, even if I had the right to do so."

For a moment, Ann didn't want to go. Standing here at the railing with Jack seemed ten times more enjoyable than going to the musical performance – although that was also very enjoyable.

Jack seemed to realize that, but he said, "Anyway, I guess my break-time is over, so I have to go back to writing."

"Are you sure?" Ann insisted. The last thing she currently wanted was to have Jack going away.

Jack seemed slightly uncertain, but he said, "Don't bother yourself because of me. Have as much fun as you can."

Then, he walked away, toward the stairs that lead to the hold. Although slightly depressed, Ann took a deep breath in an attempt to overcome her disappointment.

"Shall we go, Mr. Neves?" she finally said.

"If you don't mind…" Neves said.

Ann followed Neves to the ship's stern, where a good deal of the other crewmen were waiting, already playing their instruments. Her humor improved somewhat, but not as much as she expected it to.

Ann got in the circle, and looked around, waiting for Jimmy to come and ask her to dance with him. But, to her surprise, there was no Jimmy there.

"Where's Jimmy?" Ann asked Neves.

Neves shrugged. "I don't know, but he isn't here. Neither is Lumpy. I don't know why."

As he finished speaking, Neves took off his cap, and bowed deeply. He said in what she figured to be the best attempt at a gentlemanly voice he could muster, "Would you give me the honour of dancing with me, Ma'am?"

Ann smiled. She had already danced with Neves some times, and she could tell he wasn't very good at dancing, but his clumsy attempts at dancing – which normally ended up with Neves on the floor – brought everyone, even Neves himself, a good laugh. And Ann figured that was what she needed right now.

"I'd love to." she answered with a smile. As clumsy a dancer as Neves was, he was a good man and a worthy crewman enough to make up for his reduced dancing skills. Besides, he was improving, slowly, but steadily.

But through all of that, Ann couldn't stop wondering why Jimmy and Lumpy hadn't come. She couldn't remember any of the two missing these parties on deck. For them not to come, something serious had to have happened.

Ann only wondered what had happened exactly, and how serious it was.

* * *

_Well, my dear readers, I hope you all enjoyed the changed version of chapter 13. In case you readers didn't recognize it, the historical event mentioned in it was the second of the five Jersey shore shark attacks of 1916, the first wave of shark attacks registered in the history of the United States. I hope I don't sound mad by knowing this sort of thing._

_Well... now, if there's any of my readers around after this... please, give me a review._


	14. Chapter 14: Turn southwest

_Well, my dear readers, this here is the new version of chapter 14 - made by what was initially the second half of chapter 13. I divided it in half because, as I was reworking this, I realized chapter 13 was getting too long... so I divided it in half. What you initially knew as chapter 14 is the next chapter. This part of the chapter suffered little changes... but as it is a new chapter now, perhaps you want to read it._

_Now that this is over, let's begin._

* * *

**Chapter 14 – Turn southwest**

Jack Driscoll sat down on the crate inside his cage. He leaned his elbows on the old table and cursed silently. He knew he shouldn't be annoyed by the fact Ann enjoyed those parties the sailors organized on deck, but he had to admit the moment he'd shared with Ann had been one of the best of his life.

At least, his attempts at helping Ann had not been totally fruitless, Jack reminded himself. He'd made her stop thinking about Skull Island for a moment – but it had been too short a moment for his taste. And he had again seen the troubled look in her eyes she sometimes had, although he didn't know if that one was because of Skull Island or because of the memory the bitten dolphin had awakened. He no longer had nightmares at the cost of it, but whenever he recalled the man's mangled body, he felt a wave of nausea, even after all of these years.

But even so, he was glad he had been with Ann at New Jersey seventeen years ago to help her get through that experience, just like he was glad he had been with Ann at the _Venture_'s railing little more than a moment ago, to help her through her memory of the terrible incident.

Jack only figured he had to do the same in regards to Skull Island. And, even without Ann telling him anything, he'd already come to some conclusions. It was clear there was something fishy about the expedition Carl, Darrow, and Dollar were planning. It was making Ann nervous, nervous enough for her not to want any part of it. It also had become clear that Dollar, Carl, and Darrow were obsessed with the place and would not be talked out of going. Carl had the dreaded secret about Jack's embarrassing moment. And Jack had a feeling Dollar would set his four giants on Jack should he try to convince Dollar not to go to Skull Island.

Jack came to the realization that there was nothing he could do to stop the voyage to Skull Island from happening.

But he wanted to help Ann! He couldn't stand to see that uneasy look on her. In retrospective, the unease in her eyes wasn't that strong, true enough, but, for some reason, he wanted to take Ann out of every kind of distress in this world. He didn't know if it was only to make up for his attitude in the beginning, or if it was something else.

Jack ran his hands through his hair as if he was trying to grab some stray idea that could have escaped his brain. But nothing came to him. No miraculous flash of inspiration, like the ones he got before writing a new play. He had ideas for his stories and plays, why couldn't he get any of them now?

_Plays…_

His eyes fell on the typewriter in front of him. A pile of blank white pages was piled on a box under his table. Perhaps there was something he _could_ do. From what he had learned, Ann liked his writing. Since she did, then perhaps she would like the work he'd write for her.

It was only fair, after all. He owed all of his writing to Ann. It would be a great way to thank her if he wrote something for her. If Ann enjoyed it enough, then perhaps she could forget about whatever her uncle and Dollar had in mind for this expedition, even if it were just for a moment.

_Is that really the only reason why you've decided to write a play for her?_

The most immediate and probably the truest answer was no. Getting Ann's mind out of Dollar's and Darrow's plots was far from the only reason why Jack had decided to write the play. It was even far from the _main_ reason. But Jack decided to stop debating such thoughts there. He didn't want to let his writing mood end.

He quickly stuck one sheet of paper into the typewriter, and started to hammer its keys. After all, there were still some hours missing before his usual bedtime.

* * *

Back in the cabin she shared with Eric, Kendra opened her small wardrobe and searched through it. She wanted to look good when she attempted to make up with Eric. She didn't know if it would have any effect on him – but she didn't want to look as if she was trying to annoy him, like she had done on occasions when she felt particularly bitter. Almost automatically, her fingers stopped on a blue blouse – the one she knew Eric liked the most. Kendra also liked it. Although it was weathered, like most of her clothes, its color reminded her of Eric's eyes.

Kendra slipped out of her work shirt and replaced it with the blue blouse. She rolled the sleeves up to her elbows, and then brushed out her braid. With nimble fingers, she braided her hair back into a long, dark plait.

After checking her appearance in the small cracked mirror on the cupboard door, she exited the smaller chamber of the cabin where she slept with Eric and grabbed her captain cap. She prepared to put it on her head, but then a memory entered her mind. She ran her fingers over the cap for a moment. Eric had brought it to her, saying it was 'a welcoming gift'. He had apologized for not delivering flowers or jewels or any other of the things women normally preferred, but it had been so wonderful for her to know that he was actually welcoming her that she loved the captain cap immediately. She hadn't worn it on a single occasion after her argument with Eric. But now, she wanted to wear it.

She put it on her head, and then, almost unwillingly, her eyes met the bed she shared with Eric. As a fact, it was more of a large slightly modified trunk that stored her favourite kind of firearms, with the lid adapted to serve as bed. From the first day she had seen this cabin, it was already large enough and almost prepared for two people. The small 'sleeping chamber' already had the large 'trunk-bed' (although it carried a different kind of guns than it did now) two wardrobes, one of whose had been empty until she married Eric, and a bookshelf that she shared with Eric. That chamber also had another even smaller chamber, that was the cabin's own bathroom, with its own sink, shower, and toilet. All those things were a little cramped together, but still more than most of the crew had in their cabins.

Kendra had once said Captain Jansen (who she had never known personally, but about whom Eric spoke with great respect) had a knack for luxuries. Eric had told her that Captain Jansen had planned for the cabin to be for him and his wife. According to Eric, the _Venture_ had been 'made by Captain Jansen's order', and Captain Jansen had spent most of his life either saving or working to pay for it. Apparently, it had been part of a family dream Jansen and his wife had, but shortly after the _Venture_ was finished and paid, Captain Jansen and his wife had a disagreement and broke up. The exact meaning of those words, however, was a secret that Albert Jansen took to his grave.

Again, her eyes locked on the bed. It was comfy and warm, but it always seemed cold and big when she slept without Eric at her side. She had been the one staying with the cabin since they argued. She wondered where Eric had been sleeping. It wasn't in a good place most likely, as all the crewmembers and passengers were still in their respective sleeping locations. If they made up, Eric could come back to the cabin and have a proper rest.

_Stop stalling! If I'm going to make up with him, I must do it now before I lose my nerve!_

And as much as she was afraid of facing his eventual anger, she wanted to use this chance to heal the rift between them. If she didn't, she felt it could very well be their last voyage together.

* * *

Captain Eric Englehorn stood straight and stiff at the _Venture'_s helm, his icy-blue eyes peering into the now dark-blue sea. Without a doubt, Denham would soon come here to check out their position. Perhaps it would be this time that they would turn southwest. For at least four nights now, Denham had been coming into the wheelhouse. Each time he tried to figure out where they were, saying that they needed to turn southwest at a certain point. Why Denham didn't tell him the exact point where he intended to turn southwest was beyond Eric's comprehension. But Eric knew turning southwest would be turning to Skull Island-and perhaps to their dooms.

_Don't be a fool, Eric!_ _The island doesn't exist! It's nothing more than a fairytale to frighten nosy cabin boys! _

He remembered Skull Island was the theme one of the stories Lumpy used to tell Jimmy before the kid slept. He also remembered the time Kendra spent assuring Jimmy it was just a story.

Eric's heart ached with longing. He needed to have Kendra at his side at this moment! She always managed to calm him down when he was troubled. Often, Kendra's mere presence was more than enough to make him feel better.

But now she wasn't here. And he was guilty. He had been the one who started shouting at her. He had been the one who made the final decision regarding Denham's offer – and even without knowing what offer it was. Now, she'd most certainly want to leave the _Venture_-leave _him_.

_She can't._ Eric told himself, trying to repress the terror that started to crawl through him. _I won't stand it. Three weeks without her have been bad enough. I can't stand to lose her forever just because I am a complete fool._

In an effort to stop thinking about Kendra, Eric looked at the ship's compass. Again, he wondered if today was the day they would turn toward Skull Island. He was almost sure it would be, sure enough to have even warned Hayes of the change in course. He'd prefer very much if he had those maps for himself, but both Darrow and Denham had kept their respective maps on their possession after just showing them once on his cabin – shortly before he and Kendra argued, Eric recalled painfully. Now without maps, he had to wait in order to know when he should turn southwest.

Eric scowled. He didn't feel like he was the Captain of the _Venture_ anymore. The captain should be capable of controlling a large majority of the things involving the journey. The little control he had left was far less than what he had grown used to, and far less than a Captain should have. If they found Skull Island, the place would likely turn out to be their grave. If they didn't all end up dead, then he doubted he would ever see a single cent of the promised money.

_Caught between a dead end and a hungry lion._ Eric thought.

A light knock on the wheelhouse's doorframe called Eric's attention. At first, he was about to turn about tiredly and scowl at Denham, but he stopped himself. Denham didn't knock, he just burst into the wheelhouse. Dollar had the same annoying habit. Who could it be?

"Come in." Eric said without taking his eyes off the sea.

The ship's faint pumping filled the silence that followed Eric's question. Apparently, whoever had knocked had decided it wasn't anything important.

"_**May I?**_"

Eric froze. Besides him, there was only one person on the ship who knew how to speak German. But the voice's owner was speaking in an unusual tone – at least, compared to the one she had used during the last three weeks.

Eric looked to the side. Kendra stood at the wheelhouse's door, her head lowered, apparently in apprehension. Why would Kendra be here? What could she have to tell him?

Eric decided to wait for Kendra to say whatever it was she had come to say. A slight breeze blew into the wheelhouse. Kendra kept silent.

Eric, not being able to stand it any longer decided to speak. "_**What are you doing here?**_"

Kendra lifted her head slowly and faced Eric. Her fearful look seemed even more pronounced now. Eric wanted to stretch his arm out to her, to pull her closer to him. It usually comforted her. Eric cursed himself for not having much of a hand with words – but sometimes gestures could be expressive enough.

Now it wasn't the time for hugs, though. Not if she was still angry at him.

Worse, some of his bitterness was being pulled out by the silence. Without being able to repress himself, Eric asked,

"_**Were you afraid that a puppet wouldn't manage to steer the ship without Denham and Dollar pulling the strings?**_"

Kendra winced. And so did Eric. If she had such a fear, she would be right. He couldn't steer the ship without Denham and Dollar pulling his strings. At least, he couldn't steer the ship to the location he'd choose – which was anywhere but that dreadful island on the middle of the Indian Ocean. If he had to choose a destination around here, India would be his choice. There were plenty of animals to capture there, some of them highly prized. If things were done just right, he'd manage to get enough money back, now that there wasn't a mutinous crewman on the ship to ruin him by letting many of the animals gradually starve to death and set a fire on the hold.

Eric heard Kendra trying to speak, but no coherent sound was coming out of her mouth, only stammering noises. Eric looked straight into her green eyes, trying to read her feelings from there. He had grown used to reading them over the years. He saw uncertainty in her eyes, but also growing determination. Kendra walked toward him, although hesitation was obvious in her steps. Not wanting to set the ship off course, Eric kept a firm grip on the wheel. Kendra extended her hand and put it on his right forearm, uncovered by the rolled-up sleeve of his chocolate-brown shirt. The touch of her palm sent warmth into his body.

"_**I'm sorry.**_ _**I didn't mean to say that." **_She looked down._** "I didn't want to say those ugly words I said to you before. I am so sorry that I did." **_She lifted her head and looked him full in the face._** "And I certainly did not mean to slap you. I was horrible. I'm sorry."**_

Eric kept his eyes on her. Kendra looked as if she feared he would become angry. Eric was angry – but now, it wasn't at her. It was only at Denham and Dollar. Toward Kendra, he was only amazed. He was amazed that she wanted to apologize, when if anyone needed forgiveness, it was Eric. The Captain felt his heart softening.

"_**I didn't mean to call you an arrogant woman, either. Please forgive me.**_"

Eric tried to make a calm voice, but the tone that came out of his mouth made him feel as if he was begging her for forgiveness. Which he was – but he didn't mean to show it to Kendra. For a brief moment, Kendra seemed almost shocked, but then, she opened her mouth.

"_**It was my fault.**_" she said. "_**I'm just…**_"

"_**No.**_" Eric interrupted. "_**It was my fault. I'm the one who started our argument.**_"

Kendra didn't say anything.

"_**But I want to finish it. I still love you.**_"

The look on Kendra's face was one of impossible relief. As if she thought Eric wanting her back was beyond her wildest dreams.

Kendra stroked his forearm. "_**I still love you also.**_"

Eric reached out and cupped his hand over hers and brought both to his chest. He traced small circles on the back of her hand with his calloused thumb.

Words weren't necessary. Even though this was the first physical contact they'd shared in more than three weeks, it was enough to communicate what they were both feeling.

"Englehorn!" a voice rang out.

Eric made an impatient noise as he and Kendra both turned toward the speaker. Carl Denham burst into the wheelhouse completely oblivious to what he had just interrupted.

"We have to check our position, man! We should be turning southwest soon."

Denham's look swept passed Kendra before fastening on Eric's hand entwined with his wife's.

"Oh, you two made up already. That's great." Denham said dismissively. "We have to check our position. Chop-chop!"

Denham clapped his hands twice as if he was giving an order to a dog.

Eric glared at Carl. He wanted nothing more than to put his fist through that smirking weasel-like face. How dare Denham burst into _Eric's_ wheelhouse, interrupt a much needed moment of tenderness between himself and his wife, and then order him around as if Eric was some sort of cabin boy.

But it all came down to money, didn't it? Denham had the money and Eric needed the money. If he didn't need Denham's cash so desperately, he wouldn't even be on the ship. Damn Denham, and damn his money!

"Very well." spat Englehorn.

Turning back to Kendra, he said, "_**Steer the ship for me, alright?**_"

"_**Alright.**_" Kendra nodded.

After passing the wheel to Kendra, Eric moved into the wireless room, which also served as the map room. Edgar Robbins, the radio operator, briefly looked up from his copy of _Robinson Crusoe _to see what was happening. Robbins' look became almost a match of Englehorn's when he saw Denham.

While Kendra steered the ship, Englehorn determined their position. He acted quickly and professionally, performing all of the procedures easily.

Denham took his old piece of map out of his vest's pocket. He quickly checked it up.

"We're close. It's time to turn southwest."

Englehorn scowled.

"There's no land southwest for thousands of miles." He stood straighter. "And it takes us way outside the shipping lanes. I won't sail blind in these waters."

"You're not sailing blind, Englehorn." Denham pointed out. "You have my map."

"That's even worse." Englehorn hissed.

"I'll make it worth your while."

Englehorn stood as firmly as he could. "There is _nothing_ out there."

"What do you have to lose then?"

Englehorn scowled again. If there was nothing out there, he had nothing to lose. But if there was, on the other hand, then he very definitely had a lot to lose if what everyone thought was there was indeed there.

"Two weeks." Englehorn said.

Denham looked back at him blankly. "For what?"

"To find your island." Englehorn said. "We don't get there by then, I am turning around."

Denham laughed as if he thought Englehorn was mocking him.

"Englehorn, who are you to say when we start and when we stop? I'm the one with the cash here!"

Englehorn finally lost his patience. He grabbed Denham's collar and shoved him against the wall, lifting him some centimeters to put him at eye level with him.

"I'm the captain. I decide where I take my ship. I won't risk running out of supplies in the middle of the Indian Ocean just because of your wild goose chase. After what you've done to me, you should even thank me for giving you any time. You've got two weeks."

Denham opened his mouth, but Englehorn shook him into silence him. "Two weeks. I won't change my mind. You bring this matter up again, and I'll tie you to the top of the mast and let the seagulls eat you."

This time, it seemed Denham knew that it was a proper time to shut up. But he didn't seem so willing to leave totally defeated.

"Alright, two weeks and not even one second less!"

Then Denham finally moved out of the wheelhouse. Eric walked back to Kendra. She turned her lovely green eyes toward him. Although her look was warmer than it had been for the past weeks, there were still some hints of cold there.

"_**You heard him, I guess.**_" Eric said. "_**Turn southwest.**_"

Kendra's hands skillfully maneuvered the helm so that the ship would turn in the direction Eric had indicated. But she didn't accept the decision without contesting.

"_**Two weeks? Why not only one?**_"

"_**Because one week isn't enough time and three weeks is too much time.**_" Eric said. "_**It wouldn't be even one day, but our only hope of shutting him up and making him accept the fact we can't find the place is by looking like we are actually trying.**_"

He inhaled and gave a somewhat mischievous smile. "_**And Denham has quite a lack of nautical knowledge; he can't know how hard we are trying to find the place.**_"

Kendra gave him a smile, but it didn't totally reach her eyes. Eric leaned in to kiss her lips. He pulled away, far from satisfied. Apparently, the ice between them could be significantly cracked, but it hadn't melted. Eric wondered what it would take for it to melt completely.

Below them, the engines kept working, propelling the ship further on its new route.

* * *

Chester Brown sat at a table in the galley, a chess board in front of him. Steve Bennett faced him from the other side of the table with an open bottle of Coca-Cola at easy reach. Now that it was late night and most of the people on the ship had already turned in, Dollar and his goons included, it was easier for Chester and Steve to enjoy an all-out chess match without concerning themselves with anything else than playing with the better of their skills.

True, so far there hadn't been too much trouble on the journey, other than the lascivious behavior Bruce Baxter had shown toward both Miss Darrow and Mrs. Englehorn. But he had already stopped that, and even if he hadn't, such attitude wasn't enough to scare Chester. Baxter's attitude was probably just an innocent game, compared to what Dollar would attempt – whatever it was.

_For someone who was determined to not think about Dollar while he isn't around, you're not doing much of a job, Chester Brown!_ Chester scolded himself.

Chester rubbed his temples. He had to stop thinking about Dollar or his brain would explode.

After Steve made the first move, Chester looked at the chessboard for some time, now with his concentration on the game much deeper. After a thorough analysis of his possibilities, Chester finally made his own move. While Steve considered his possibilities, Chester took a gulp off his Coca-Cola. As he made the gesture of drinking, his eyes caught Denham sitting at a table close to his and Steve's, accompanied by Preston. Chester's eyes narrowed. He knew Denham had some kind of association with Dollar, and although it appeared to have been started on this journey, perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to keep an eye on the plump movie producer as well.

_Dollar isn't here now, Chester! Don't think about those things now! Do you want your brain to explode?_

Chester took some deep breaths and then another gulp of Coca-Cola. The effect of the two things combined was enough to get thoughts about Dollar and Denham out of his head. Noticing Steve had made another move, Chester started to consider his next move, but before he was even halfway through his thoughts, a voice called his attention.

"If someone were to tell you this ship was heading for Singapore, what would you say?"

Hayes had just entered the galley, his look hard as stone. Hayes locked his eyes on Denham as the first mate moved he slammed one fist against his palm. Chester gulped. Although it wasn't directed at him, Hayes' display was certainly intimidating.

Denham didn't seem to gulp, but he was clearly looking for some way of avoiding a conversation with Hayes. But before he could do anything, someone intervened.

"I'd say they're full of it, Mr. Hayes. We turned southwest an hour ago."

Chester turned his eyes toward the one who answered. Lumpy stood at a corner with cigarette held between his teeth as he sharpened a knife against a whetstone. Chester had the brief impression that either the moment had been rehearsed, or both men had a very clear idea of what they wanted.

Chester figured it was the same thing he wanted to know. Where exactly was Denham going? He hadn't realized the ship had turned southwest – another proof that this time he managed to focus enough on the game of chess – but he had enough knowledge to know that it wasn't the way to Singapore.

Denham seemed to grow more agitated by the moment. He looked around as if he hoped to escape. Chester stood up.

"What's this?" He growled.

Steve shot up by his side. He placed an arm in front of Chester. "Don't be rash." Steve whispered.

"Don't worry." Chester replied in the same low tone. "I'll only act as a passenger who got some shocking information and wants to know what he got himself into."

Denham turned to them, his eyes widening slightly at the looks on both Steve and Chester's faces.

"Gentlemen, please, we're not looking for trouble."

"No." A new voice intoned.

Jimmy entered the galley, a challenging look in his eyes.

"You're looking for something else." the kid concluded.

Denham gave a sideways look at Jimmy for a moment. Finally, he realized he had no escape.

"Yes, we are." He said quietly.

Then, his tone changed to that of a classical showman, as he proclaimed what he thought would be the most fantastic thing ever.

"We're going to find Skull Island! Find it, film it, and show it to the world. For twenty five cents you get to see the last blank space on the map."

Chester's eyes narrowed at the location. Skull Island? Where was that exactly? He had never heard of that place – and he wasn't the most ignorant of people in terms of global geography. And _certainly_ there couldn't be an uncharted island in 1933!

But someone else seemed to know the information Chester lacked.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that." Lumpy said cryptically.

Chester's gut twisted, both at the cook's words and tone. Why would Lumpy say such a thing? How dangerous was this Skull Island?

"What do you mean?" Preston asked.

Lumpy rubbed his knife along the whetstone again, and started speaking, "Ten years ago, me and Mr. Hayes – we were working our passage on a Norwegian barque."

Hayes carried on with the story. "We picked up a castaway. Found him in the water. He'd been drifting for days."

"His ship had run aground on an island way west of Sumatra." Lumpy continued. "An island hidden in fog. He spoke of a huge wall – built so long ago, no one knew who'd made it. A wall a hundred foot high – strong today as it was ages ago."

Chester liked the matter less and less as time passed. This time, he was the one to make a question, "Why did they build the wall?"

Hayes looked first at him, then back at Denham. Then, he asked, as if he was addressing everyone in the galley, "Did you ever hear of… Kong?"

"I haven't." Steve replied with a shrug.

Chester scratched his nape, wondering where that would have come from. Jimmy and Preston shook their heads. Denham, though, just smiled.

"Kong? Sure!" he replied uninterestedly. "It's a Malay superstition meant to frighten naïve children! A god, a spirit… something, anyway."

Lumpy's teeth pressed down on the cigarette held between his lips for a moment. His tone became eerie. "And the castaway – he spoke of a creature, neither beast, nor man, but something monstrous, living behind that wall."

Chester's whole body froze. The rational part of his brain told him that the story was absurd, but he had gotten to know Lumpy well enough to distinguish when one of his stories was true and when it was a fake. This was almost ridiculous, but he doubted Lumpy would lie in this situation.

Denham kept his smile. "A lion or a tiger." he replied indifferently. A man-eater, that's how all these stories start."

_In the middle of the Indian Ocean?_ Chester wanted to say. _Even I know there's no way a lion or a tiger could get there by his own means. And I can't see someone having a reason to transport such an animal there. Such an animal wouldn't certainly be responsible for this 'Kong' whatever it is._

Preston spoke again. "What else did he say?"

Chester wanted to know exactly the same.

Denham gave his assistant a hard look as if scolding him silently for speaking too much. But Lumpy continued.

"Nothing. We found him in the next morning. He'd stuck a knife through his heart."

Chester sank down on his chair like an empty bag as though he had been stabbed himself. The Coca-Cola he had drunk seemed to be trying to make its way out of his stomach by itself. Steve slumped down on his seat, his expression making him look like he was about to vomit. Both Jimmy and Preston looked paler than corpses.

Denham still seemed more amused than everything, though.

He gathered his stuff from the table and held it under his arm. "Sorry fellas, you're gonna have to do better than that. Monsters belong in B movies."

Denham and Preston started exiting the galley, but Hayes spoke again, "If you find that place…"

Denham and Preston paused, turning to hear what the first mate would say next.

"…if you go ashore with your friends and cameras, you won't come back."

That sentence finally seemed to have caused some effect of Denham, because now there wasn't even the slightest hint of a smile on his face.

"Just as long as you understand that." Hayes concluded.

Denham turned silently and walked out of the galley. Preston moved behind him. Jimmy and Hayes left the galley as well. Lumpy rubbed his knife along the length of the whetstone one last time, but then he set both the sharpening stone and the knife down and left the galley as well.

Chester considered drinking the rest of his Coca-Cola, but his still churning stomach could take nothing now. In fact, it was a wonder it hadn't yet expelled its current contents.

"Well, I guess we'd better turn in." Chester suggested weakly. "I don't feel like playing chess now."

"Neither do I." Steve agreed.

The two of them started putting the pieces of chess back in their box.

"What on earth have we gotten ourselves into, Steve?"

"More trouble than we were expecting." Steve replied without hesitation.

Steve's answer had been far from conclusive, but it surely told a lot, Chester bitterly noticed. He wanted something more informative about what Skull Island could be exactly, but he doubted anyone besides Hayes and Lumpy knew about the place. Besides, spreading the knowledge of the real destination among the crew could end up in a mutiny, if the crew held Skull Island in the same consideration Hayes and Lumpy did.

In the end, Chester said the only thing possible. "We'd better try to get some shuteye, though. No matter how much trouble we're in, we came here for a purpose. And we must carry it to the end."

"Good night, Chester."

"Good night, Steve."

Steve moved away to his cabin. Chester did the same, but his mind was still reeling from what he had heard.

_Good night after such a bedtime story? I'll probably have nightmares for weeks after what I heard! Why would the guy kill himself after he escaped?_

Unfortunately, that was a question whose answer Chester didn't know. And he doubted anyone truly did.

* * *

_Well, like I said, this was only the second part of chapter 13 - there is not much new to it. But well... I hope you enjoyed it anyway, if you haven't read the initial version._

_Well... if you haven't done it already, please, review._


	15. Chapter 15: Different kinds of matters

_Well, my dear readers, hello to all of you. I'm back, and well, I'm back with a new chapter. When you read it, some of you may recognize it as the initial version of chapter 14 - but believe me, now it is different. I'm not sure I had told it already, but well, when I updated the initial chapter 14 - now chapter 15 - I received a review that said certain things about this fanfic about Ann being unreallistically high strung, considering the background I gave her._

_After some deep thought, I came to the conclusion my reviewer - I'm not mentioning his name, because I'm not sure I have his permission for that - was right in what he said. And in regards to that, I reworked this fanfic from chapters 10 to 15. For you to get a better grasp of the differences, I advise you to go back and re-read this fanfic from chapter 10 on - or at least, from chapter 13 on. I'm sorry for putting this on your plate, but well... I had to do it._

_Now that this is over, let's begin._

* * *

**Chapter 15 – Different kinds of matters**

_Indian Ocean, November 6__th__, 1933_

The day had ended some time before, and the layer of clouds in the sky was too thick for any natural illumination to come through. If not for the artificial light provided by the _Venture_, there would have been no way the passengers or the crew could have see their way around the ship in the unusually dark night.

In the ship's hold, inside his usual lion cage, Jack Driscoll sat on his crate in front of his old typewriter. He hammered away at the keys with such speed that the sound of the writing device working at top speed sounded like machine gun fire.

The play flowed out of Jack effortlessly. He didn't stop to make corrections; rather, he just concentrated on getting his ideas and the words out. He knew that was far from the ideal method, but he was under a deadline ever tighter than the one Carl was establishing on him. Jack felt as if there was an invisible man close to him at every moment sitting on a bench, tapping the floor in impatience, and pointing a high-caliber rifle at him. The phantom man would only leave Jack alone once he delivered Ann the finished play.

Jack knew that Ann was holding back information, but it was no good. Ann insisted on keeping everything about Skull Island to herself. Truth be told, Jack didn't look forward to know what could make Ann upset, but he thought that if he knew it, perhaps he'd understand better how help her feel better. He had been able to comfort Ann at Spring Lake in 1916 because he knew exactly what had been disturbing her. Jack had every reason to believe he would be able to do the same now her if he only knew why the thought of Skull Island was so distressing to her.

Although he didn't know the exact location of that Skull Island – if the place even existed – it was clear that, should it be real, they would get there soon. And if Jack wanted her to stop thinking about it even for a moment, he would have to deliver something before they got to the chunk of land that somehow loomed over them all like some demon that had fled from hell, ready to strike.

The downside to that was that, in order to be capable of writing quickly enough, he'd had to cut down the time he had been spending with Ann, to the point he hadn't been with her at all during the last week. But everything had its price and, if luck and skill would have it, the time he spent away from her would be worth it when she read the play. Even if she thought it was horrible, at least she wouldn't be thinking about Skull Island.

Jack typed the last word of the play. "There." He said with a sigh of relief. "This is it."

Well, 'this is it' was quite far from the truth, and Jack was both too experienced of a writer and too intelligent to think otherwise. What he had just finished was a sketch of what the real play would be – should it ever end up on stage. Even for a mere rough draft, it was the quickest work Jack had ever written, and he knew very well that good and quick seldom meet.

But he felt it was written well enough for his purposes. Hopefully Ann would feel well enough to read it, although considering how used she was to the quality of his finished works, she was bound to find a rough draft quite below Jack's normal skill. It still amazed him how well Ann knew his work – so far, the only person who was as familiar with his work as himself was Ann. The gap between the two was almost too small to actually matter.

Jack leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes. Having to write a play in record time would be a wearing task all by itself, but the fact Carl had been quite a hindrance during the past week added to Jack's tiredness. Carl had pressed Jack to deliver new material for the movie, and although Jack had managed to keep a reasonable rate of production of the screenplay, the movie producer's paranoia hadn't decreased. Eventually, just to have time to write the play for Ann, Jack had made the movie's storyline come to a point from where he couldn't carry on writing until they reached their destination. Of course that increased Carl's stress – but, thank God, that stress was now away from Jack, although Carl released some of it on Englehorn and his wife.

Although he felt sorry, Jack didn't worry about the married couple. He was certain that if Carl pushed his boundaries too far with either Englehorn or Kendra, Carl would be very sorry. The Englehorns were both doing a good job of restraining themselves, but should either one of them break loose, there'd be damage – and Carl would take it all. But Jack doubted Carl would be stupid enough to purposefully provoke the Englehorns, especially knowing all the fury would be directed at him.

Jack grabbed the stack of papers and rapped it against the table top until the pages of the play were neat and straight. He'd never let anyone see one of his works in such an early state of production. But this was a different case.

Jack looked at the stack of paper in his hands and said, "Your job is to take Ann's mind away from Skull Island. Please don't fail."

This was probably the biggest understatement that had ever come out of his mouth. He looked into the hold's darkness. This play had not been written solely for the purpose of taking Ann's mind away from Skull Island. He had other intentions with this play. Part of his mind wanted to reveal his growing feelings for Ann through it. But another part of his mind considered it would be better if she didn't know.

He stood, paused for a moment to marshal his courage, and then Jack strode out of the hold at full steam. But after taking a few steps, he stopped, struck by a sudden thought. He rubbed his chin, and felt the stubble under his fingers. Back at New York, he was always perfectly shaved, not a single hair seen on his jaw. And he was certain the stubble was only the tip of the iceberg formed by how bad he should look to the eye.

The smell of animal detritus suddenly became very apparent. Considering the time he'd been down here, he probably now smelled similarly.

There was something he had to do before showing Ann this new play.

* * *

Ann Darrow sat cross-legged on her bunk. She felt drained and hollow.

It wasn't wholly because they were getting close to Skull Island. Ann had looked at the maps, and was dead certain that if Skull Island was there, they would arrive soon. That stirred apprehension inside her, but that all by itself would have been far from enough to make her feel anxious and weary. The main reason for her current state was only one: Jack was not speaking to her again.

Ever since the day they had seen that scarred dolphin jumping close to the _Venture_, he had spent gradually less time with her until it had been a full week that she had seen him outside of his dungeon.

At first, Ann believed it was because Denham was breathing down Jack's neck, but Denham had told her in a tone that was stressed and annoyed that Jack had already written all the scenes that took place before the arrival to the island, and would not produce new material until they got to Skull Island.

She had arrived at what she thought was the only logical conclusion: she had again dreamed too much. Jack was avoiding her again. But this time, she didn't know why. The only possibility she could think of was that he'd been offended when she'd left his company to go to that musical revue with the _Venture_'s crew – but Jack had seemed understanding enough. Besides, he only had stopped seeing her at all for the last week, quite some days after that dreamlike moment they gad shared.

The worst part was that Jack wasn't the only one avoiding her. No one paid any attention to her now. Her uncle was too excited at the prospect of getting close to the discovery of a lifetime to even notice her. Jimmy was usually working, and when he wasn't, he was with Mr. Hayes talking about something appeared distasteful to them both. The other sailors were always together in small groups now, also talking about something that clearly displeased them. The sailors had also stopped their impromptu musical shows. Kendra always seemed to be with the Captain in the wheelhouse, so Ann couldn't even voice her concerns to her only female friend on the ship. Even Chester and Steve were distant and nervous. Ann felt left out plain and simple, and alone more than ever.

A knock at her cabin's door made Ann snap out of her trance. Someone seeking out her company? How novel.

"The door's open." Ann said in an uninterested voice.

No answer of any kind came. Apparently, whoever had knocked got second thoughts and decided to go away.

Then, the briefest creaking sound made Ann turn her head and look up. The door was opening, and someone was coming in.

It wasn't just someone, it was Jack.

Ann thought her eyes were playing tricks on her. It had to be a trick that Jack Driscoll was now entering her cabin after all the time he'd spent without seeing her. But Jack Driscoll was there and already fully inside her cabin.

Part of her wanted to race to Jack and hold him as tightly as possible in her arms. She had missed him so much! But another, pessimistic and stubborn part of her wanted to get as far away from him as she could. Caught between the two polar emotions, Ann stayed right where she was.

As a compromise, Ann decided to wait and see what Jack would do next. He took two steps forward, but then he stopped.

Jack made a gesture to his right and placed a stack of pages on her small table. As he looked at her, he face became full of concern.

"You look pale." he said. "Do you feel alright?"

Jack brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. His hand was so warm that Ann wanted to close her eyes and sigh in delight at his touch. But she was still annoyed that he had abandoned her for the past week.

"You're cold."

Ann finally spoke, although it was in an empty tone. "I'm fine, I suppose. Just a little tired."

Jack looked decidedly unconvinced, but, thank God, he didn't press the matter. He simply dropped his hand to his side.

"Why are you here?" Ann said. She sounded as if she nearly did not care to know the answer.

Jack straightened up and immediately looked away. The gesture was so quick and startling that Ann wanted to grab Jack by the hand and keep him there. She even started to reach out for him, but stopped herself mid-way. He reached out for the stack of papers he had laid on the table and picked them up again.

"I want to show you something."

Ann's interest was piqued. She looked up at him

Jack rubbed the back of his head. "This is what has kept me in the hold all of this time. My most recent work."

Amazement swelled up inside her. She had no idea Jack was writing something new. The familiar thrill that always woke up inside her whenever she knew there was a new Jack Driscoll play in production blazed to life. This one could not yet be on stage, but knowing it was already written was good enough.

Jack brandished the stack of paper. "This is far from the final version, but I would greatly appreciate if you read it."

He again ran his hand along the nape of his neck and added, "You'll be the first to see this, besides myself."

Her excitement increased even more. Having the honor to be the first to read her favorite writer's latest work was almost beyond belief. She'd read everything he ever published, and even some things he hadn't published. But Ann doubted she had ever been the first to read something written by him.

"I would love to."

Ann took the pages in her slender hands, and then she felt as if her eyes were just opening.

Only now, Ann noticed Jack Driscoll was wearing what seemed like clean clothes. Not only that, but he had also shaved and washed up. But the clothes did not fit him quite properly. His white shirt was ill-fitting, as if it belonged to someone who was shorter, but more muscular. His olive-green trousers also were a bit baggier than they should be, although the belt he was wearing held them up just fine.

It was then, thinking about Jack's clothes, that Ann suddenly remembered she was only wearing a short slip and a thin robe. She felt her cheeks redden. She surely should have more clothes on in front of Jack! Although the idea Jack would try anything on her – at least in that way – felt absurd.

But for some reason, the fact he was wearing those clothes made her feel this wasn't exactly the same Jack Driscoll she'd seen on the rest of the voyage. The fact his shirt was open, instead of buttoned all the way up, and his sleeves rolled-up to the middle of his forearm, made him seem more relaxed and comfortable.

Trying to take her attention away from Jack's clothing, Ann lowered her eyes to the pages. Along the way, she noticed Jack Driscoll was wearing combat boots instead of his customary loafers.

More than the clothes, the boots made her feel this wasn't the same Jack Driscoll. A small smile flickered on her lips.

Jack followed her gaze, and noticed what she was looking at.

"Steve gave them to me, along with some socks. Chester was kind enough to let me borrow the shirt and trousers. The only thing that is mine is my…" Jack went crimson. "…underwear."

He coughed once, as if trying to make the blush disappear, and said, "They were nice chaps, to lend me clothes like that."

Ann made an effort to bring a light-hearted mood into the cabin. "Well, I suppose you could do with a new outfit."

Jack laughed. "My other clothes were developing a personality of their own."

Making a new attempt at taking her mind off Jack Driscoll's look, Ann turned her eyes to the play. The title caught her eye:_ Cry Havoc! _Jack's titles usually were a single word.

As she started reading, Ann quickly noticed how different this was from his usual plays. Not only because its style was somewhat rough. She had expected as much knowing this was so far from the final version – after all, not even Jack Driscoll should be capable of doing things just right at the very first try. The style was much different from his usual works. The characters' lines were funny. More, they were clearly _meant_ to be funny. This was a comedy.

"You've written a stage comedy?" Ann said. She looked up at Jack.

"For you."

Surprise flooded through her. It took her in such a way that she had no idea how to react. "For me?" she finally managed to whisper.

Jack nodded.

"Why would you write a play for me?"

"To thank you, for giving me that push all those years ago. If you hadn't have encouraged me to enter that writing contest, I may have never become a writer."

"You could have just said thank you."

"You're right, but I was also writing this play hoping it would take your attention away from what it is that is upsetting you."

Ann supposed that the play would do its job acceptably, and she was very grateful for that, but was it really the only thing that had compelled Jack to go through the work of writing this in record time?

"I still don't understand why you would work so hard on something that really doesn't matter right now."

Jack jammed his hands into his trousers' pockets and shrugged.

"There is another reason."

Ann looked at Jack expectantly.

Jack straightened up, but he didn't say anything. Ann could almost see him vibrating, as if he was about to say something, but in the end, the thing that came out of his mouth was not what she had expected.

"I don't know how to say it."

"Jack…" Ann's whisper was so soft she at first doubted Jack heard it. "…just say it."

"It's not that easy. I'm not sure it can be said by words. I don't think in this particular case it is about the words."

Ann was perplexed. Jack range of vocabulary was one of the widest ones she knew. What sort of thing could he have to say that couldn't be expressed by any of the words he knew?

Ann suddenly thought of the one matter that sometimes men had problems at finding words to describe. Her experience had taught her that the men who had more trouble figuring how to say it were those who really felt it.

But why on earth would Jack feel that way about her?

The most important question that came to Ann's mind was this: how did _she_ feel? After all, feelings of this sort of matter had to be shared by both sides. This wasn't the kind of thing one could develop alone.

It didn't take long to figure out the answer. For her own part, Ann wouldn't want to put in words how she felt about Jack either. She had the idea it was too special to be defined by mere words. Ever since the two of them had made up, Jack had been by her side, standing up for her, trying to cheer her up, and trying to help her with her troubles. Yes, he had left her on her own for some time so he could write the play, but now that Ann knew he'd written it for her, her feelings for him had strengthened.

Jack still looked unsure, but he started moving closer to her. Instead of making a move to get away from him, Ann just put the stack of papers carefully aside, and got up, walking closer to him as well.

Soon, the two were so close she barely had to extend her arm to touch him. Ann looked up at his green eyes, and found she couldn't tear herself away from them.

Jack reached out and ran one his hands gently through her hair. He came closer and wrapped his arm around her waist. The feelings that rushed through her blood were stronger than she ever remembered feeling.

Jack lowered his face toward her. She could already feel his warm breath upon her face. The expectation inside her went up at arrow-speed.

As their lips touched, Ann closed her eyes so she could relish this incredible moment. As Jack continued kissing her, warmth seemed to come from his lips, slowly passing into her own, and then going through the rest of her body. For a moment, Ann opened her eyes to make sure if Jack was really there and to make certain that this wasn't a dream. Of course, he was really there, but even if it had been a dream, she did not want to wake up. Ever. She suddenly wrapped her arms around his torso. She didn't want him to move away. She wanted him to stay right where he was, kissing her and holding her.

Jack pulled away. "That was better than words, don't you think?"

Ann stood up on tip toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. She smiled shyly. "I dare say I feel the same way." She leaned up as far as she could, wanting to kiss him again.

Jack understood her intentions, and met her halfway. And as their lips met again, Ann felt as if she was flying up to paradise.

* * *

_Well, this is it, my readers. From this chapter on, it will be entirely new material. The reworked material ends here. You probably spotted the biggest change on this chapter - and you probably like it. In regards to that, I have a few confessions to make. I initially wrote Ann "highstrung" like my reviewer called her, because, somehow, I felt that this was easier. I know it's not very good to take the easy route when I'd already established a hard one - but hopefully it's not too late to mend my mistake. And in regards to Ann and Jack kissing now, I have another confession to make, one that will probably make you think I'm despicable - and perhaps you're right._

_The truth is, I initially didn't want to make Ann and Jack kiss for two reasons. One is that I had an idea for the story to end with their first kiss, and somehow I wanted it to be so. The second, and probably the one playing the most part in it, is that I didn't want to develop Ann and Jack's relationship because I was jealous of it. I know it sounds a little bit stupid... but well, that's the truth. I'll probably end up alone and worthy of the Guiness World Record of grumpiest person ever - but still, I realized that jealousy is not a good thing to develop anything on. So, I got over my jealousy and gave Ann and Jack their kiss. Of course, it's not over yet, but still, I hope it's better than the initial version._

_Well, if there is any reader around after this, please... review!_


	16. Chapter 16: Changing course

_Hello to all of you, my dear readers. After six chapters with edited material, I'm finally back with something new. I doubt that, after what I said on my last chapter, I have any reader left, but well, if there is still any of you around, then please, I beg you on my knees, read this chapter._

_In case you're wondering, no, this still isn't about the arrival to Skull Island - which is quite a shame, to develop a story for so long and along such a big number of chapters, and having hardly gotten close to Skull Island. But I beg you, wait just a few more chapters, alright? We'll get to Skull Island!_

_Now that this is over, let's begin._

* * *

**Chapter 16 – Changing course**

Up in the _Venture_'s wheelhouse, Benjamin Hayes steered the tramp steamer through the dead of night. It was late, but he was only two hours into his six hour shift. Not for the first time that night Hayes wondered if he'd be able to sleep properly. Ever since he and Lumpy had recounted the story of the castaway they'd met, Hayes had been having bad dreams again. On more than one occasion he had awakened bathed in cold sweat and with his heart beating a hundred miles an hour. Hayes had a feeling that this night would be no different.

His brown eyes darted from one side to the other as if expecting some kind of freak of nature to pop out of the unusually deep darkness. But all he could see around him was the ship, the faint edge of ocean that the artificial lights could illuminate, and Eric and Kendra speaking quietly with each other at the wheelhouse's door. Beyond the reach of those, Hayes could see nothing – but the lack of light could hide anything there.

Kendra had told him a week ago that Eric had given Denham a deadline of two weeks to find Skull Island. If they hadn't found the island by then, the Englehorns would throw Denham off at their first chance. It was only after he received this information that Hayes realized why they had been sailing in circles. It burnt time up time and kept the ship away from that damned island. It was better than trying to find it, but Hayes still thought Eric and Kendra should just give Denham a direct 'No' and turn the ship around while they still could.

The sound of footsteps took Hayes away from his thoughts. Turning toward the sound, he saw Robbins leaving the wireless room and moving toward Eric and Kendra. There was a piece of paper in his hands.

"Captain, Ma'am, this message is for you." Robbins handed the paper to Eric.

They read the message together. The looks on the faces of both husband and wife got angrier as they progressed. By the time Hayes guessed they'd stopped reading, both the Captain and his wife looked like the personification of fury.

Kendra lifted her eyes from the piece of paper.

"I'm going to kill him." she hissed through clenched teeth.

Whoever the 'him' was, the first mate believed Kendra's statement was not far from her intentions.

"_**No you're not.**_" the Captain interjected. The fact he'd spoken in German revealed just how upset he was. "_**I want that honour for myself.**_"

Hayes didn't understand his Captain's words, but he understood his intentions perfectly.

"Then we can just wring his neck together." Kendra added. Her voice was like a gust of chilling wind.

It was very clear to Hayes that the message had brought bad news, something that had been too frequent in this voyage for the first mate's liking. And, as first mate, it was his duty to know what the message said.

"What's this about, Captain?"

The captain strode over to Hayes and handed him the telegram.

Hayes grabbed the piece of paper and read it. It didn't take long to realize why both Eric and Kendra were furious. In fact, reading the message made him want to join the Englehorns' lynch mob.

The three stood there in silence. The ship's engines worked underneath them, and the waves lapped against the ship's hull, but those things only made the lack of speech more pronounced.

"What now?" Hayes finally broke the vocal blockage that seemed to have come over the three of them.

He could guess what the answer would be before it was voiced.

"It's obvious, Mr. Hayes." Englehorn said. "Follow these instructions."

"And quickly." added Kendra. "We've lost far too much time with that bastard already."

Hayes was more than happy to oblige.

_Who knows, perhaps this night I'll be able to get proper sleep._

* * *

Carl Denham sprinted toward the wheelhouse. He knew exactly what he had felt, but his mind wanted to believe it was impossible. This couldn't be happening! The deadline Englehorn had given him was November 11th. It was only November 6th. Carl was certain they'd find Skull Island soon. His confidence of that fact was unwavering. And there was _no way_ he'd allow the search for the location of his best film to be suspended even a nanosecond before the deadline ended.

For him, there wouldn't even be a deadline, but Englehorn had proved more immovable than Mount Everest when it had come to trying to convince him to lengthen the deadline. Carl's only hope now was not to shorten it.

"What's going on?" he shouted as he climbed the stairs that lead to the wheelhouse. He leaned on the doorframe for a moment trying to catch his breath. "Hayes, why are we changing course?"

Hayes barely turned his head, but it was enough for Carl to see the _Venture_'s first mate giving him a look darker than the first mate's skin.

Carl turned around and saw both Englehorn and his wife walking out of the wireless room straight toward him. The looks on their faces were even worse than Hayes' had been. Obviously, one of them had been the one ordering the change of course, so Carl focused his attention on the couple.

"Look, you two can't just…" he began.

Englehorn cut him off. "Outside!"

"I'm the paying customer here, you can't…"

"Outside!" Kendra echoed her husband.

"Just who do you think…"

Apparently, three times was too much.

Both husband and wife moved toward him. Each of them grabbed one side of Carl's shirt, right below the collar. The looks on their faces indicated both of them meant serious business.

"Now." both Englehorn and Kendra whispered at the same time. That tone seemed so much scarier than an angry shout.

Intimidated by the Englehorn couple acting in such perfect and angry unison, Carl found himself temporarily without words and options. The only thing he could do was nod, and although the Englehorns immediately let go of his shirt, they didn't let him out on his own, giving him a rough shove instead.

As soon as he got his footing, Carl stood on the platform between the stairs and the wheelhouse's door. He gripped the railing. Englehorn moved to Carl's right, and Kendra moved to his left. Carl felt like an animal caught between two ravenous predators, but Carl's urgency and anger were carrying him forward on his purpose, so he didn't give into his fear. Yet.

"What is going on?" he shouted.

He expected either the Captain or the Captain's wife would tell him he wasn't in the place to make demands, but right now both of them seemed to be too angry to do so.

Englehorn lifted his right hand, and Carl could see a piece of paper held between the Captain's calloused fingers.

"We received a message, Denham. It says a few _interesting _things about you."

His apprehension becoming even stronger, Carl wondered just exactly Englehorn meant by interesting.

"The bank refuses to honour your cheque." Kendra said from Carl's left.

Carl alternated his look between Kendra and Englehorn. Only now fear started to grow inside him. But fury and frustration came along with it. Why did this have to happen now? Just when everything seemed to be going as well as it possibly could in his situation, something had to come to spoil everything!

No. He wouldn't allow this film to crash down just because the bank had told the cheque was no good. If he managed to placate Englehorn's fury and convince him it was entirely the bank's fault, it was possible he'd be able to carry on.

Carl took a deep breath to calm down, and then tried to speak in the most composed tone he could manage. He succeeded in not sounding furious, but his nervousness showed in the stammering of his speech, "Look, this is a stupid mistake, I don't…"

"Don't insult our intelligence." Englehorn said in the same tone he used for giving orders to his crew.

"It was no mistake, and you know it." Kendra said.

Carl knew it was true. The bank hadn't refused to honour the cheque because of a mistake; it was simply because Carl was broke. But he couldn't say that to the Englehorns.

_Is there any other option?_ Carl briefly wondered.

No. Not yet, at least. He had to tell the truth.

"I confess. It is no mistake." he said. "My wallet has more moths than money at the moment. But I swear to God, I planned to give you both a real cheque as soon as my movie was pouring its profits into my bank account!"

Englehorn crossed his arms across his chest. "If we were around to receive that cheque."

Carl's throat suddenly became drier. He'd unintentionally missed that particular point. Of course he didn't want to leave Englehorn and Kendra without payment – it was still within his morals not to be a thief if he could avoid it – but now that he thought better about it, he had to admit there was no certainty that the _Venture_ would stay in port long enough for Carl to pay the Captain for his efforts.

Carl tried to start another appeasing speech, but Englehorn cut him off.

"Either way, you're not giving us any money because you're not making that goddamn movie anymore."

"The message said was not only interesting, but even more discouraging in terms of continuing this voyage." Kendra said in a voice with both bitterness and cruel satisfaction.

Carl stood straighter, his alarm increasing. For Kendra to speak in that tone, the message would have to have brought even worse news for him.

He just had no idea of what they could be. 'Fortunately', Englehorn didn't waste any time in satisfying his curiosity.

"There's a warrant out for your arrest. Did you know that?"

His fear was like boiling water pouring through the space between the pan and the lid. Damn that Zelman! Couldn't he just have waited until Carl came back to New York and then see the results of his escape before swearing out a warrant for his arrest?

The more Carl thought about it, though, it had to be Farragher and Poehler. They were the ones most against Carl's filming. Zelman would have just gone along with their decsion..

His only hope now would be to finish his movie before being arrested.

"We've been ordered to divert to Rangoon." Kendra said.

Carl blew through his lips like a horse and slapped his thigh.

_Just great! Rangoon! Those guys sure know to pick their spots! Rangoon's the nicest place to finish a movie – provided one stays indoors and is heavily armed._

But he felt no fear at the idea of going to that place. All the fear he had was toward the possibility of not finishing his movie. Of failure. This had been his last chance. It wasn't yet completely wrecked, but by now it was far too close to doom for Carl's taste.

His only hope was to talk Englehorn out of it.

"Just another week. That's all I ask. I haven't got a film yet."

He was so desperate to finish this movie he actually was willing to resort to begging, "Please, I have risked everything I have on this."

"No, Denham, you risked everything I have."

Carl could already tell Englehorn wasn't going to back down in his decision. But Carl just wasn't ready to admit defeat now. Doing so would mean his end.

"What do you want? Tell me what you want, I'll give you anything!"

"I want you off this ship."

Suddenly, a new voice came to join the conversation.

"And he will be off this ship – but only after you do what you were paid for. Why did you change course?"

Looking beyond Englehorn's shoulder, Carl saw Dollar standing there with his four huge bodyguards standing right behind him. They were all looking very angry. Usually, such a sight would have scared Carl, but this time, it actually made him to want to hop around and dance with joy. Knowing Dollar, the tycoon would tolerate no change of course. In fact, so far he hadn't even tolerated the idea of a deadline, although he hadn't managed to get Englehorn to change his mind. But now, Englehorn would have to do so if he didn't want Dollar's wrath upon him.

Carl and his movie were saved.

"Why did you change course, Englehorn?" Dollar insisted. "That wasn't in the deal we made, was it?"

Dollar looked so menacing that Carl felt his blood running cold.

Englehorn, however, seemed unafraid, judging from his tone. "You're right, Mr. Davison, Denham will be off this ship after I do what I promised. And what I promise myself to do now is take him to Rangoon. Denahm has a warrant for his arrest. I want him off my ship."

Dollar gave a shrug as if to say he now understood the reason for the change of course, but he carried on almost instantly.

"You're going to that island and let Darrow do what I financed him for. I paid you to give priority to our mission!"

"That's right Dollar, you paid. But that makes little difference to me, because as soon as we get to Rangoon, you and your giants are also going off – and Darrow and his niece will be free to join you as well, if they want to do it."

Carl could almost feel his jaw wanting to drop in amazement. Englehorn was still in a desperate financial situation, absolutely dependant on the profit of this voyage, and the warrant for Carl's arrest had not brought him any money for sure. Yet, it seemed that money had suddenly stopped mattering to him. Why?

Looking behind him, Carl saw Kendra, looking beyond him, straight at her husband and Dollar, as if she wasn't even aware of Carl's presence. He couldn't help but to wonder how much she had to do with Englehorn's decision to obey the warrant for Carl's arrest.

Dollar took a menacing step toward the Captain. "Englehorn, I will not have spent almost six weeks on this rust bucket full of fleas that you dare to call a ship for nothing. I want to get to that island, and I want you to reestablish a course to it NOW!"

Carl could not see Englehorn's look from his vantage point, but he imagined the man would be quivering in terror. Carl himself would be, if he had the anger of a man who was rumoured to be one of the strongest candidates for public enemy number one in America directed at him.

Surprisingly, though, Englehorn was _laughing_.

_Is Englehorn mental? _

Englehorn soon explained in a poisonous tone, "You're the customer, not the Captain. I still hold that position, and I say we're heading to Rangoon." Then, his tone changed to sternness deeper than Carl had ever heard from his mouth. "And I also say you'll never set foot on the Venture or any ship captained by me again, no matter how much money you give me."

Englehorn took a breath, and added, now with pure disgust in his voice, "I do not have to accept money from a poisonous snake."

This seemed to be the limit of what Dollar could stand.

"Boys!" he yelled.

Instantly, the four giants advanced on Captain Englehorn. In a flash, Englehorn drew down on Dollar's goons.

"Mr. Davison, I consider myself a reasonable man." Englehorn said in a cold, hard voice. "But if you insist in behaving so aggressively, I will defend myself."

Carl grudgingly admired the Captain of this rusty bucket of bolts. From the way he spoke, the man was totally unafraid. He'd obviously dealt with far worse than a gangster and his four sidekicks.

Carl just wished they'd do it fast; he wanted to get the hell out of there. But while Dollar could be a quick thinker, these behemoths' brains seemed to work so slowly that they'd probably stay here the rest of the night.

A breeze blew around the ship, chilling the movie producer to the bone. As if on cue, Dollar turned his gaze away from Englehorn and glared at Carl as if the movie director was the person he hated the most. It was so frightening that Carl flinched and took a step backwards. He nearly stumbled into Kendra, but she met him halfway, and with one arm shoved him aside with little effort. As he regained his balance, Carl noticed Kendra's other hand hovered over the pistol she had holstered at her hip.

Giving a sideways look at Dollar, Carl saw the gangster still glaring at him. In the middle of his fear, Carl wondered why the man would hold such a feeling against him. But that question had an easy answer: it was because of the warrant that had been delivered for his arrest and had compelled Englehorn to stop searching for Skull Island. There was no other option. Carl only hoped Dollar wouldn't turn his wrath on him.

Thank God, Dollar eventually stopped glaring at him, and instead turned his eyes toward Englehorn. He took three deep, angry breaths, and finally said,

"Alright. My men and I will get off in Rangoon. But I want all my money and cargo back with me!"

"You'll take all your cargo." Englehorn said. "But I'll keep half of what you paid me."

Dollar's eyes became more snake-like than ever. His stance reminded Carl of a king cobra with its hood open, ready to give a bite capable of killing an elephant.

"I said I want all of my money back." Dollar whispered. "You didn't go the job I paid you for, you don't get payment."

Surprisingly, Englehorn kept his wits about him. "Half of your money stays with me, Dollar. I didn't get you to your island, but I looked for it with you and your giants aboard, and I fed all of you for six weeks."

Then, pointing a muscular arm to the stairs, Englehorn shouted, "Now get out of here!"

Dollar mumbled something imperceptible, looked at Englehorn as though he wanted to eat him, and, after a moment that felt eternal, moved back down the stairs, his four bodyguards following him like loyal dogs.

Without any reason to hang around, Carl also went away, trying to find a place away from the wheelhouse, one where he could suffer silently without being disturbed.

* * *

Thomas 'Dollar' Davison walked back to his cabin, every orifice in his body boiling with fury. Why couldn't Denham have had some guts in the middle of all that fat of his and back him up in his attempt to take over the ship? That chubby idiot had been in a perfect spot to hit the German's head! Even if he didn't knock Englehorn out, he'd leave him confused, and allow the four men he'd brought aboard to lay hands on him and get that pistol out of his hands. But no, Denham just had to stand there like a dumbstruck idiot! Why? After all, this had clearly been the guy's last chance for a successful movie. If Dollar had taken control of the ship, that chance would return to Denham's hands.

Then again, maybe not, Dollar realized as his fury slowly cooled off. Taking over the _Venture_ in that way would have been a short-lived victory. Even if Dollar had dealt with the German, he'd need direct or indirect support from the crew for the takeover to be successful. None of the crew members held him in high regards, and changing their minds about that would take too much time – a lot more than Dollar had before he got off in Rangoon.

And to top it all, half the money he'd paid would stay with the German!

Still, perhaps it was better to brush that off this time. He'd lost money in failed investments before, only to earn much more after a successful one. This time it would be the same. Besides, considering he'd be taking his cargo and bodyguards, he hadn't lost all that much in retrospection, only time and half of his money. But he had always known that new profits could take time to gain. None of his plans to get money from that damned Skull Island was ruined, it would just take a bit longer to produce results than he'd initially expected. And he just needed to find another ship and try get to Skull Island again with Darrow and his niece in tow again – or even without them, if they didn't want to make another attempt at finding the place. Dollar could have stopped going up, but he hadn't come any step down on the stairway of profit and struggle he'd been climbing during most of his life.

Unfortunately, there was a major obstacle in his way.

Dollar gave a look at the crow's nest. He could see Jimmy Dawson in his post – although not necessarily doing his work, as he had a flashlight on his hand and aimed it to his own lap.

That was the only matter he needed to settle before putting the time he spent on the _Venture_ totally behind his back: sending the brat to the happy hunting grounds. While the kid didn't seem to have any particular memory from Dollar, the risk that he would get a sudden strike of memory was not worth taking. The major issue was for Dollar to figure out a way of getting rid of the kid without being discovered. But Dollar still had some time on this old carcass, he could spend it figuring that out.

Considerably calmer than he had been some moments before, Dollar moved back to his cabin, ready for a cigar and a swig.

* * *

Ann sat on her bunk leaning against Jack's side. His arms were wrapped around her, holding her in the most gentle and tender way she'd even been held. A contended smile graced her face as Jack gently stroked one of her curly locks. They'd been sitting like that for an amount of time she didn't care to measure, either talking quietly or just enjoying each other's company. Occasionally, Jack would caress her neck, or her hair, or kiss her cheek. Every moment of it had been paradisiacal to her, and that feeling hadn't wavered with the passing time. Even the _Venture_ was contributing, giving just the right sway, almost as if it was trying to lull her to make her even more relaxed.

Ann thought that it seemed unreal that Jack was living up to her dreams, but from the moment their lips had met for the second time, Ann had decided to just give in to her feelings instead of her thoughts.

Jack again kissed her cheek. The contended smile still on her face, Ann reached down and took one of Jack's hands into hers. But when she came into contact with Jack's right hand, it felt tensed under her fingers. The feeling made her narrow her eyes slightly. Probably Jack was feeling even worse than her. She started massaging Jack's right hand, hoping to bring him some relief. She wondered just how much Jack had worked to get this play ready so quickly.

"Thank you, Ann." Jack whispered into her ear. "That's feeling like heaven."

"After all the trouble you went to writing the play for me, it's the least I could do."

As she kept massaging Jack's right hand, she added, "But if you ever decide to write something for me again, please don't do it in the way you've written _Cry Havoc_."

"What's wrong with the way I wrote _Cry Havoc_?"

Ann looked at the stack of papers that was Jack's play. "Considering the size of the play, and the time you had to write it, I'm starting to wonder if you took any time off at all to eat or even sleep."

Massaging Jack's palm, she carried on. "In short, I don't want you to wear out your hands just to write something for me."

Jack laughed. "Don't worry about my hands. They're tougher than they seem, strengthened by the most varied tasks."

Ann raised an eyebrow in curiosity. "And what would those tasks be?"

"All sorts." Jack said. "When I was a kid, before I met you, my family went camping all of the time. It was my job to put up the tent and light the fires. I do all my shopping myself, clean my apartment, and I have been known to cook on occasion. There was even a time when I used my hands to fly airplanes."

The amazement about the last piece of information was so much that Ann let go of Jack's hand.

"When did you fly an airplane?" Suddenly feeling her questions could imply she thought Jack was a liar, she added hastily, "It's not that I don't believe you, but as far as I recall, you were pretty much set to become a writer sixteen years ago. When did you ever try to become a pilot?"

Jack chuckled for a moment. "If you mean a professional pilot, then no, I never did that. When I was preparing to write _Break_, I learned how to fly planes so I could get a better feel for a pilot's emotions before his first battle."

"Well, it certainly paid off. _Break_ is one of your best plays."

And then a question came to her mind. How much effort would Jack be able to put into his plays if he had to share them with her? What if he just decided he just couldn't get both things into his life and had to make a choice? How would she be able to live with herself if Jack had to choose between her and his livelihood?

For that matter, would she and Jack stay together once they got back to New York? As long as her uncle wanted to keep up with his expeditions, Ann couldn't leave him alone. But she didn't want Jack out of her life again. It was possible her uncle would understand and let her go to Jack, but for Ann to be able to do so Uncle Leonard would have to give up his passion. And Ann also wasn't sure she could live with that.

Ann looked down at her own hands. Apparently, she had been well on her way to dream too much. Everything could be paradise now, but at best, this dream would last only until the _USS Venture_ got back to New York.

Jack laid a hand on her back. Ann looked up at him. He moved his free hand up and stroked her cheek. "Hey, what just happened?"

"Jack, I know what I'm about to tell you may sound somewhat awkward, but it's truth as I see it. I don't want you to be offended by what I'm about to say. It's not my intention."

Jack gave a brief nod of understanding. "Shoot."

Ann took a deep, steadying breath. "The feelings I had for you when we were younger have…resurfaced. And strengthened. And after what happened today, I believe I can say safely the same about you."

"You're correct." Jack said.

Ann almost shivered from the amount of emotion those two small words had. It made her wonder just how far the two of them had come.

But she forced herself to go on. "The point is I don't see how this will last once we get back to New York. I do believe it will be wonderful until then, but once we get there, I am afraid there will be things that will come between us again."

"You could come with me."

Ann's eyes widened slightly. "What do you mean?"

Jack rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, remember when you told me you once looked forward to be my assistant?"

"Yes…"

"Well, I've recently decided to create a special closest-assistant position for you, which you can occupy as soon as we get back to New York – among the other places you're already occupying here, of course." He gave her a crooked smile.

Ann thought it was really sweet of Jack to do such a thing, but his offer had no solution for her main problem of not being able to leave Uncle Leonard alone.

"Jack, please don't think I'm despising your feelings when I say this, but the truth is that I can't accept. Nor will I be able to go with you."

Jack immediately stiffened. "Why not?"

There was a hurt look in his eyes, and try as she might Ann couldn't blame him for that.

"I need to tell things the way they are. You have your life at theatre with your plays. I have my life following my uncle around on his expeditions. Those two lifestyles are very incompatible." Ann clasped her hands in her lap. "As long as my uncle keeps going on his expeditions, I must go with him. He's too old to go on his own, and I am the only one I trust to look after him properly. I can't leave him alone. Please Jack, try to understand."

Jack's hurt look had disappeared, which meant he probably had found the logic in Ann's words. Now he had his hand on his chin in a Sherlock Holmes mimicry, which he sometimes did whenever he was in deep thought.

Ann waited as he weighed the matter over in his head. The waves lapped against the ship, continuing its steady rhythm.

Jack removed his hand from his chin, only to put it under Ann's.

"Ann, your concerns on the matter are legitimate." he said. "But perhaps they are a little bit premature. We don't know how long Carl will take to finish his movie, or how long your uncle's expedition will be. And even after those two things are finished, we will have at least a month before arriving at New York."

Curiosity rose inside her. "What's your point, Jack?"

"My point is, before we get back to New York, the three of us – you, me, and your uncle – can sit down together and talk about how things will be then. If we want, we will be able to find some sort of compromise."

Jack picked up her hand and held it in both of his own. He looked at her earnestly. "Where there's a will, there's a way."

That was true, Ann realized. She had the will, and, from what she'd seen, so did Jack. If Uncle Leonard also had a will, they would find out a way. There was still the matter of when exactly they'd talk, but she decided not to think about that for now. After all, the time for a serious conversation with Uncle Leonard about that matter was bound to come as soon as he discovered how deep her relationship with Jack had become, which would certainly take less than two days. But until that moment came, it did no good thinking about it.

"You're right." she said.

Jack stroked her cheek again. "I'm glad to know those are your thoughts on the matter."

Then, he slowly removed his hands from hers, and said, "But, if you don't mind, I would also be glad if you read the rest of _Cry Havoc_. I'd like to know your opinion about it."

Jack stopped for a moment, as though he was steadying himself for what he would say next, before he carried on, "I plan on getting it on stage as soon as I can."

"But I thought it was just for me to enjoy."

"That too, but I also intend to get it produced."

"Oh."

Ann was surprised. Jack writing a play for her and actually wanting to get it on stage was extremely touching.

Ann got up, and went to pick up the stack of papers, doing it as quickly as possible so she didn't have to spend too much time without looking at Jack. Now, more than ever before, it seemed just that looking at Jack was like looking at an extremely precious treasure she never got tired of contemplating.

"I'll read it right now." she said.

Jack moved toward her and laid a hand on her forearm. "I'll just get going and let you read it in peace."

"You don't need to go."

"It'd be better for everyone, I guess." Jack said. "I don't want to leave but I think I should."

Ann put down the stack of papers. "I don't want you to go."

"Neither do I." Jack said. "But some people on this ship could think badly of you if I stayed here, your uncle among them."

That was true, Ann realized ruefully. Uncle Leonard was more open minded than many other English men of his age, but he still followed a few patterns of behaviour some viewed as traditionalist. And even if he didn't have any objection to the fact Jack had visited her, Leonard certainly would have more than one if Jack stayed the whole night in her cabin.

"I guess you're right."

Jack took his hand to her face and stroked her cheek gently. "Don't worry, Ann. This time I won't go away for long. I'll be back tomorrow. I promise."

Ann nodded. Words didn't seem to have any particular use at the moment. She was just letting her eyes speak for her, because she knew Jack would be capable of reading the message there.

Then, Jack started lowering his face toward her. Guessing what he wanted, Ann leaned up to meet him, her eyelids sliding closed. From the moment their lips met, Ann felt as if she was floating in an empty space where the only things existing were her, Jack, and all the emotions they were sharing with their kiss. The sensation lasted until their lips parted.

Jack held her hands up to his lips and kissed her fingers. He set them back down gently, and then turned around and headed for the door.

When he got there, he opened it and stepped out. After he was outside, he turned around toward her. Jack took his hand to the door, but before he started closing it, Jack looked her in the eyes one more time, with the same look he had recently, when they shared their first kiss.

"Good night, Ann."

"Good night, Jack."

Ever so slowly, and always looking her in the eyes, Jack closed the door. But still, when the door's lock met the wall and the tiny space through which she could still see one of Jack's eyes disappeared, it was all too soon for her taste.

She could hear his fading steps as he moved away from her cabin. But, as she looked to the now closed door, she realized there was one place where Jack had gotten in more deeply than ever before, and from where he would never leave.

Her heart.

* * *

_Well, this was it, my dear readers. Although we didn't yet get to Skull Island, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter - if any of you stayed around after the confession I made on last chapter. _

_Well, if any of you is still around, I beg you, review!_


	17. Chapter 17: The motive behind it all

_Well, my dear readers, here I am, back with a new chapter, which hopefully you will all enjoy. And well, after seventeen chapters, and more than a year of published fanfic, we finally start getting closer. Now that is a lot of time. _

_But Skull Island is still drawing closer, and in the next chapter - or the one after the next - the Venture should finally get there. You've all waited this long, please wait a little bit more._

_Still, I hope that you enjoy this chapter even considering there's still no Skull Island in it._

_Now that this is over, let's begin._

* * *

**Chapter 17 – The motive behind it all**

Jack Driscoll sauntered along the beaten-up deck of the tramp steamer, a wide and slightly dazed smile on his aquiline features. He felt as if were walking on clouds, and his heart had expanded with pure happiness to the point of feeling like it would burst straight through his chest. A small part of his mind kept flashing him the notice that he looked ridiculous mooning about as he was, but Jack paid it no mind. All he cared about was how he felt.

And right now he felt like the luckiest guy ever.

When he had gone to Ann's cabin with the rough draft of his play, the hope that Ann would enjoy it had looked distant. The hope that Ann would realize the feelings he was trying to show her through the play had looked close to unreachable. In fact, part of him had thought it would be better if she didn't get the hint. What if she realized what he was trying to say and she did not feel the same? Or worse yet, what if she did feel the same way and fate took them apart again?

But now he knew his fears were unfounded. Jack had known it from the moment he and Ann had kissed. The way she had kissed him back gave him the very distinct impression that Ann's feelings for him mirrored his feelings for her. But Jack still had a hard time understanding what a woman like Ann saw in a man like him. The only thing other women had ever appeared to consider handsome or desirable was his wealth. But he knew Ann well enough to know that she saw more to him than that, but what that was still remained a mystery to Jack.

Before any more doubt could mar their wonderful moments together, Jack decided t would be best if he stopped questioning and just accepted what had happened.

As he turned a corner, Jack's eyes caught Englehorn's seaplane. It was chained to the deck in its usual spot close to the crane. The time he'd spent in those piloting and parachuting lessons he'd taken while preparing to write _Break_ flashed across his mind. Mastering those two things had probably been the hardest thing he'd ever done, but it also been the thing he'd been more determined about, all for _Break_, a play which was also a new experience for him, would have a hero as realistic as possible, and in turn have bigger chances at success.

But Jack was even more determined to keep his relationship with Ann than he had been to master piloting and parachuting. Two months ago, Jack would never have imagined that he would go to the lengths he had already gone for a woman. But, now that he thought of it, Ann wasn't just _a_ woman. She was _the _woman. The woman of his dreams, to be absolutely precise. And although the prospect of keeping such a relationship with a woman was still somewhat new to him, Jack was more than willing to try. He was not ignorant enough to think he had a bed of roses ahead of him – after all, Ann herself had pointed out a few obstacles their relationship would have to face sooner or later. But Jack was determined to overcome anything to have by his side.

Jack continued walking along the deck, and as he reached the prow and turned to go back down the other side of the ship, he saw a chunky figure leaning against the ship's railing. It was Carl.

A sense of angst replaced the happiness he had been feeling from the moments he had shared with Ann. Jack approached his friend. The movie producer was staring blankly at a piece of parchment-like paper in his hand

The look in the other man's eyes shook Jack. It was a look that was a mix of despair, defeat, and hopelessness, of someone who was doomed and saw no way out of his current situation. Jack had seen such looks before, mostly on the faces of the poor devils that inhabited Hooverviles. But never for one second had Jack considered that he would see such a look on Carl Denham's face. Ever since Jack had known him, Carl had always found his way around any obstacle, even if he had to follow somewhat questionable paths. Jack concluded that whatever had affected Carl this way was really serious.

In spite of everything Carl had done to him on this voyage, Jack still worried about his friend and wondered if he could help in any way. Curiosity and concern pushed Jack forward.

"Good evening, Carl."

Carl lifted his head from the piece of paper and looked at Jack. The effort the playwright had to make to stop him from shuddering was colossal. If the look in Carl's eyes was shocking seen from aside, seen in full front was almost overwhelming.

"Hi, Jack." Carl said in a flat unemotional tone. He turned his eyes back to the piece of paper.

Jack hesitated for a moment, and then thought the only way he was going to find out what was wrong with Carl was to simply ask.

"What is going on?"

Carl lifted his head back up. Jack stood silently trying to prod Carl into answering with his eyes only. But it turned out to be a useless effort, because, after a weak attempt at thinking about the matter, Carl dropped his shoulders as if he was signaling that he'd given up trying to find an answer.

Jack tried a different approach. "What is that?" He pointed at the paper in Carl's hand.

Carl again lifted his eyes toward Jack. "When I bought it almost six months ago, I thought it would be my ticket to fame." he said. "But now, I guess it's just a worthless scrap of paper."

Carl's words could be vague to some people, but Jack knew him well enough to read between his lines. "That's the so-called map to Skull Island, isn't it?"

Carl acted as if he hadn't heard Jack's question, but, just like the playwright had heard Neves saying once, 'Who shuts up, consents.'

"May I see it?"

For the briefest of moments, Carl's stubby fingers tightened around the paper. A fierce look came to his eyes, as though he was defending his more precious possession. But as soon as that look came, it disappeared. Carl passed the piece of paper to Jack.

"See as much as you want, Jack. I no longer need it anyway."

Jack narrowed his eyebrows. "Why don't you need it anymore, Carl?"

"Because we're no longer going there." Carl said. Each word he said seethed with anger and bitterness.

"Englehorn's sick of searching, isn't he?"

Carl's scowl worked perfectly for an answer. At times, Jack still got amazed at how he was capable of making one-sided conversations – but he could do so only because he could understand what people meant from more than words.

"Do you want to tell me exactly why he quit searching?" If he remembered it right, there were still five days missing for Englehorn's deadline to end.

Carl pointed his clenched fist toward the wheelhouse.

"The bastard received a wireless message." His other hand gripped the railing so strongly his knuckles were white. "It said the bank turned down my check."

That much wasn't a surprise for Jack. Kendra had once told Jack that Carl had paid her husband two thousand dollars, but Carl was a struggling filmmaker running on a tight budget, so there was no way he'd have so much money. For that matter, now that Jack thought of it, even if he'd been able to get off the ship with a check from Carl, it would probably be worthless. But for some reason, Jack found himself feeling more pity than anger at the movie producer.

Carl snarled like an angry wolf. "It also said Zelman swore out a warrant for my arrest because of his reels of film. The son of a bitch wants Englehorn to drop me off in Rangoon!"

After Carl said that, the rage drained away and his shoulders sagged with hopelessness. Jack gave him a nod because he didn't know what to say. He already knew of the stunt Carl had pulled with his investors, and it was little wonder to Jack that they'd done such a thing after what Carl had done to them. He felt sorry for Carl, but still, the man had to learn to think before acting. And if he didn't learn it the easy way, he'd have to learn the hard way. Jack had heard of people who, after going to jail, simply lost the will to live. If God wanted so, that wouldn't happen to Carl. He hadn't done anything bad enough to deserve death.

In an effort not to think about how dark Carl's future could be Jack started looking over the map to Skull Island.

On one side, it appeared to be an ordinary chart similar to the ones he'd seen Englehorn or his wife studying. It had a course marked from San Francisco to a place west of Sumatra. It also had a spot, quite far from the ending of the course, saying 'Place where Kelly was picked up'. And lastly, there was also a circle marked as 'Skull Island lies somewhere in here'. Neither the point where Kelly had been picked up nor the end of the marked course were inside that circle.

The other side had a map of the island itself, made by the same who had written the sentences in front of the chart. Said map had some sentences pointed out there, which looked like key spots of the island. However, more interesting than that were other sentences written on the map by a different pen. Those sentences were nearly illegible, but as Jack studied them thoroughly, he started to work some of those sentences out.

And he didn't like what he read.

The first one he managed to work out was, '_Poor Almeida was mutilated by it_'. Then, there was another set of sentences saying, '_The titanic monster chased us through the jungle. Whenever he caught one of the group, he bit off his arms and legs one at a time, before biting off his head, barely slowing down as he did so. Eight of us were killed by him before three of us and the girl reached safe ground._'. Jack managed to work out one more sentence '_It savaged Bakali with its jaws full of curved, serrated teeth, and then bit off Bakali's head with a single bite, before flying away with him in its claws_.' before he decided he needed to take a break of studying the map.

So this was it. According to Carl's map, Skull Island was populated by monsters. That was what Carl wanted to film, for sure. As long as Jack had known him, Carl had always insisted on trying to offer the biggest shows he possibly could, and indeed, creatures from an uncharted island would look spectacular on the big screen.

But had Carl even stopped for a moment to think that if he tried to capture such creatures on camera, it would be possible he wouldn't survive to tell the tale? If what the map said was true, at least ten people had been killed! Had Carl even thought about that?

No. When it came to get the best shot ever, Carl never thought. He just acted. And the cost of that had been high more than once. If Carl had gotten his chance to get to Skull Island, then the thought of how much such an action would cost was enough to make Jack shudder.

And then a light shone in his brain. So this had been why Ann appeared so nervous at times! Whatever clues her uncle was following to Skull Island also suggested danger of this sort. In fact, if it was anything like this, Ann had been extremely calm for someone with such knowledge, even considering the possibility that it was nothing more than a story.

But if they were no longer going to Skull Island, there was no need for him to be worried anymore. Jack wanted to assure her, but she could be asleep, and he didn't want to wake her up.

Jack himself however had his sleepiness erased by the discovery he'd made, so he decided to study the map a little bit more, just to see what else he could find out about that island.

But Carl started speaking again, "And that stupid Englehorn's in on it. That stinking German." Carl spat. "Him and that bastard Norwegian!"

"What Norwegian? What the hell are you talking about?"

Carl jabbed a finger toward the map. "The fella who sold me that map. The skipper of a barque. The man picked up a castaway and the guy was barely alive. The only survivor of a shipwreck. Right before he died, he told his story and gave the Norwegian that chart, and the Norwegian made a map for the island." He walked toward Jack, now with a sort of grim energy to his movements. "I'm telling you Jack, they're trying to get rid of me. They're gonna dump me in Rangoon and claim it for themselves!"

"Claim what? Carl, listen to yourself, huh? You just dragged us all out here on the pretext of making a movie. For _this_?" Jack lifted the piece of paper for emphasis.

Carl prodded the map with one of his stubby fingers. "This is the movie, goddamn it! Do you have any idea how huge it could be? The last remnant of a dead civilization, the last blank space on the map. Don't you get it?"

"No, I don't." Jack scowled. "How would I get it, Carl, you never told me? Huh, buddy? Pal? Friend?"

Carl was unfazed. "You're damn right I didn't. What, you think I was born yesterday? I learned this business the hard way. Nobody had the guts to back me so I backed myself!"

"On the basis of what, huh? A scrap of paper?"

For him, the way Carl had deposited such faith in a piece of paper and a sailor's story was totally ridiculous, enough so to make him stop thinking about how dangerous the island could be.

Carl was insulted by Jack's comment. Again, he prodded the map with his finger. "This island is real. It exists."

Jack stood silent. The way how Carl spoke convinced him that he wasn't lying. That Carl believed it was the truth as if he had some sort of proof positive. But, with the sentences he'd just read working on his mind, he only had one opinion about that island. And he wasted no time in voicing it to Carl.

"Then perhaps it is not meant to be found."

* * *

Kendra leaned against the wheelhouse's doorframe inhaling the fresh air of the cool wind that was blowing around her. After she took the deepest breath she was capable of, she let all the air out in a contented sigh. At first, just like Eric and Hayes, she had been angry at the fact Denham's check was useless, but now that she'd had some time to think the matter over, she thought that it had all turned out for the best. Denham would get out of here without causing them any major trouble, Dollar and his goons would be dropped off, and they would even keep half of Dollar's money. And once in Rangoon, it was likely they'd be able to pick some cargo.

But even if they hadn't earned a single cent out of this, the idea of not going to Skull Island was enough to put her mind at total ease. Kendra did not consider herself a coward, but should that island be real, the idea of going there scared her, because of all the vessels and men that had been lost in that area. For the moment, she recalled that they were currently sailing through that same area, but they'd leave soon, never to go back.

It seemed things were finally getting right.

Kendra pushed away from the railing and tucked a few loose tendrils of hair behind her ear. As lovely as the night could be, what she hoped for the most now was that she would be able to convince Eric to turn in a bit earlier than usual. Lying down in their comfortable bed with Eric gently holding her seemed like a perfect way to spend the remainder of the night.

But as soon as she turned around to make him that proposal, she found out something that pushed any thoughts about going to bed away from her mind. Both Eric and Hayes were hunched over what Kendra knew to be the ship's compass, although she couldn't see it. But whatever they saw there made Eric's look grim.

Kendra went over to the space between Eric and Hayes to peek at the ship's compass. When she looked at it she understood the look on Eric's face. The compass's needle was swinging wildly from one side to the other, as if it no longer knew where the north was. Kendra knew it was possible to mess up a compass if something made of any other ferromagnetic mineral was placed close to it, but as now it wasn't the case, she assumed they were sailing over some region where the seafloor had minerals with ferromagnetic properties. This meant they would have to use another way of determining their position.

Eric gently laid a hand on her forearm to get her attention. Kendra turned her green eyes at him.

"Check out our position." he requested. "Use the stars."

Kendra nodded, and went to pick up a sextant from the map room before stepping back outside ready to do as Eric had asked her. But it didn't take more than a glance at the sky for Kendra to realize doing what Eric had requested was impossible – and that they were in an even worst situation than she had thought when the ship's compass went crazy.

Kendra went back into the wheelhouse. Both Eric and Hayes' expressions turned grim when they saw her face.

"There are no stars, Eric."

* * *

Jack leaned against the wall still studying the mysterious map. He was working out the sentences slowly, but with each of them he understood, the knowledge of how Skull Island was a dangerous place became even more evident. Nearly every sentence described some horror that had happened to the man who had been on Skull Island, who Jack now knew from the sentences to be a fellow American, a hardhat diver named Sam Kelly.

He'd briefly wondered if Kelly had just been delirious and had fabricated his story while he'd been adrift, but Jack figured even those deliriums needed to have some sort of basis in fact. He had also wondered if Kelly had just been a clever ruse made up by the Norwegian captain to get some gullible sap to give up his money.

Jack looked over the map at Carl who was leaning on the railing. He looked as if the mood of total defeat had returned to him. If Jack had been sorry before, now he wasn't at all. The only feelings he held toward Carl were anger and betrayal. Even though Carl had hinted at how dangerous Skull Island was, he'd obviously decided to willingly go there and drag about sixty people with him. Jack knew Carl wanted to make a movie that would be a box-office triumph, but there were limits for everything!

But all of it was irrelevant now; they weren't going to Skull Island anymore.

Nevertheless, the map still had Jack's full curiosity, and he kept trying to work out the sentences scrawled there. He noticed something that he hadn't noticed before on one corner.

_Now what's this?_

At first, it looked either like a coffee stain or an ink smudge, but with a bit of imagination, and perhaps the sentences Sam Kelly had written on the map working on his mind, it looked like a face. A bestial, gorilla-like face, its mouth opened in a bone-chilling roar.

Close to it, there was a single word, one which Jack didn't have to make a very big effort to work out.

'Kong'.

The word was totally unfamiliar to him, but perhaps Ann, being niece of an archaeologist and having travelled around the world with her uncle for sixteen years, knew something about what it could be. He'd have to ask her.

Suddenly, Jack's attention was snapped out of the map by the foghorn's blow resounding through the ship.

Carl also looked up, startled, but as he turned his face toward the ship's prow, a look of hope burst across his face. Jack leaned forward and looked at the same spot. What he saw made him feel as if he had a block of ice in his throat.

A wall of fog stood there as if rising from the sea itself, widening toward both sides of the ship as far as eye could see. Although they hadn't even entered the fog yet, Jack had the impression he could smell a faint, primal scent coming from it, a mix between the smell of a tropical greenhouse and one of those reptile houses from the zoos.

Jack looked at Carl again. The man was staring intently at the fog bank. Jack looked back down at the map. Written at several points around the island, was a word, one that hadn't been written by Kelly, but by whoever had drawn the island's map.

'Fog'.

Jack folded the map and stuffed it into his trousers' pocket. He wanted to keep the thing for himself, as he had a feeling he'd need whatever knowledge contained on this piece of old paper. Fortunately, Carl didn't seem to notice, keeping staring intensely at the fog, hope radiating from him more intensely than light did from the sun.

Like Carl behind him, Jack stared intensely into the fog. But the sight didn't elicit any hope in him. Rather, it only brought out a rush of fear, a fear that was only fuelled by the sentences he had read on Carl's map.

_Just what exactly are we going to find there?_

For a moment, Jack had the feeling that, as soon as he figured out the real answer, he'd regret ever wanting to know.

* * *

_Like I said, we're getting ever closer to Skull Island (and probably the main thought on the heads of you readers is "It's about time!"). I'm sorry for it, but I wanted to develop the characters before getting to Skull Island. And we're almost there - so I hope you stick with this fanfic for some more time, although I respect you if you don't want to do it._

_Well... my readers' feedback keeps meaning quite a lot to me, so I kindly ask you to review._


	18. Chapter 18: Through the fog

_Well, greetings to all of you, my dear readers. I have very good news for you. Finally, after more than a year and eighteen chapters of updates, we get to Skull Island. I'm sorry if you felt that it was too long, but like I said more than once, I believe my previous chapters were important. I'm sorry it took so much time, but at least, now we already got to Skull Island. Or we will, in the end of this chapter. _

_I thank any reader who kept following this fanfic so far, and I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint you._

_Now that this is over, let's begin._

* * *

**Chapter 18 – Through the fog**

Sitting on the edge of her bunk, Ann Darrow read the same sentence over and over, barely taking in a word each time her blue eyes ran over the page.

She felt wonderful that Jack had asked her to read the play because he valued her feedback, but it was impossible for her to focus. Her mind was too busy dwelling on two other things she never wanted to forget, the discovery of the feelings Jack had for her, and the discovery of how willing he was to make it so the two of them wouldn't be broken apart again once they got to New York.

It was still a surprise how Jack had managed to get so deeply into her heart in the short time they had been together, especially considering Jack had spent almost a month running away from her every time he saw her. Their six years of friendship must have meant more to him than she had previously thought. Ann loved that the feelings she had always had for him were mutual.

More than once, Ann hoped she was not dreaming because it was a dream she didn't want to end. But she knew it was not a dream. Jack's touch had felt very real, and the play she was currently holding was also real. And his kiss had felt even more real than those two things put together. The only thing that made her feel she was in a dream was the way how she felt: as if she was floating in the air, and the only things existing were her, Jack's play, and the feelings rushing through her as she relived the moments they'd shared time and time again.

But then, like an extremely loud alarm clock, a noise loud enough to wake the dead blew into her ears and brain. The dreamful atmosphere vanished immediately. Ann sat up straighter, her heart pounding and her eyes darting from one side of the cabin to the other.

_The foghorn._

As soon as the thought came to her, Ann went rigid as granite.

The foghorn. It was only used when the ship was about to sail into a bank of fog. And fog was something that figured in some of the passages of Valdemar's diary – both before and after Skull Island.

'_That bank of fog appeared to rise from the sea itself, white as milk, extending toward both sides as far as eye could see, so thick it was impossible to see anything beyond it.' _

Ann knew fog was not something exclusive to Skull Island, but at this location, it was likely that the fog they were sailing into was the same Valdemar had crossed all those years ago. Ann knew there was only ne way to know for sure the fog was the same, as the phenomenon Valdemar had described possessed a few peculiar features, was to go out on the deck.

Ann got up and walked to her wardrobe. She chose a white cotton shirt and a pair of khaki trousers. After changing out of her slip and robe to the more appropriate clothing, she laced up her knee-high leather boots.

For a moment, she considered putting a coat on, but the urgency of finding out what was going on didn't make her stay long enough to choose one. Besides, the temperature outside should be bearable even with the fog.

After leaving her cabin, she walked along the corridor and pushed open a door that she knew gave access to the ship's deck. Although she already expected it, the sight she caught as she walked to the railing froze her breath in her throat.

A thick layer of fog had come over the ship, covering it like a bag thrown over a rabbit. The fog left a trail of cold in its path as it condensed on Ann's skin and clothes. Ann glanced behind her and for a moment she managed to see an area free of fog at the ship's stern. A moment later, the fog rolled over the clear patch of sea like an avalanche coming down a mountain. The bit of ocean disappeared. The only things in the world now were the ship, those on it, and the fog. Only there was no one around her.

More notes from Valdemar's diary came back to her.

'_The fog spread to the deepest spots of the ship, giving a feeling that our space had suddenly grown tighter, as if the fog itself was trying to choke us and squash us at the same time.'_

Ann figured Valdemar had already been affected by his ordeal when he wrote that passage of diary, because so far the only feeling the fog stirred inside her was apprehension.

Remembering more of Valdemar's notes, Ann sniffed the air. The smell that entered her nostrils was similar to what a tropical rainforest smelled like, although not as strong. It was still stronger than it should be given their distance from the island.

Ann crept along the deck, fearing to trip on something the fog obscured. Her hand hovered over the railing, ready to grab onto it in case she tripped. Her heart jumped every time the ghostly shape of a crewman passed by her. The fog had now covered her skin in a damp layer. Her breathing and heartbeat quickened with each passing second.

Then, a shape materialized out of the fog in front of her. She recognized Carl Denham's stubby figure leaning at the railing, cutting off her path – but beyond him, she managed to see Jack standing there, looking into the fog.

The sight of him lifting an invisible burden from her heart, Ann moved over to him, having forgotten her fear of tripping. As soon as she got to Jack, she reached out and grabbed his hand. He gave a startled jump when he felt his hand being held all of a sudden, but as soon as he saw who'd done it, the alarm in his eyes disappeared. She noticed he looked apprehensive, but not as much as she was. And even her own uneasiness was decreasing, as if in spite of her worries about Skull Island, Jack's presence was enough to give her a feeling that everything would be alright.

Trying to get more of that feeling, Ann enveloped Jack's hand with both of her own, as the two peered into the fog together.

* * *

Standing at Eric's left side; Kendra examined the fog, trying to make any danger. Her heart thudded ever harder in her chest, sending unease through her veins to every point of her body. The stories she'd heard about that island and the ships that had disappeared near it came back to her mind over and over again. Given those stories, it seemed as if this location was populated by those sea-monsters rumoured to exist on the beginnings of the Age of Discovery, the monsters that made meals out of the ships that came to the end of the sea.

The thought was enough to make her shudder. Even with the Earth having been proved to be round more than four centuries before, the ships couldn't just evaporate. Something had to make them disappear.

The big question was _what_.

Kendra pushed the line of thinking out of her mind. Her energy was best spent looking out for anything that could harm the _Venture_, and for now, there was only fog, which Kendra knew tended to surround isolated islands, and for that fact, could hide something as dangerous as – and much more real than – sea-monsters: a reef.

Adams appeared at the other door of the wheelhouse.

"Station the forward lookout, Mr. Adams, and give us the depth by lead line."

Adams tipped his cap. "Yes, ma'am."

As the sailor moved away to carry out her order, Kendra turned her eyes back toward the front window knowing for a task like this, every pair of eyes was welcome. She reminded herself that the crewmen were keeping watch as well as Jimmy, who had an excellent overview from the crow's nest.

The ship's engines kept propelling the ship through the fog, straight forward into the unknown. The eerie atmosphere created by the combination of the engines' sound and the sight of the fog increased.

"Thirty fathoms, no bottom." shouted the forward lookout, Wilfred Roberts. In spite of the other sounds there, Roberts' report seemed as loud as a lion's roar heard at close-up.

At her side, Eric immediately reacted.

"Reduce speed. Steerage way only."

Hayes moved to the telegraph levers and swung them.

"Dead slow ahead both."

The ship's engines pumped slower, but their noise sounded louder and more pronounced to Kendra's ears.

"You should stop the ship." Hayes said in a low tone.

Kendra momentarily turned her attention away from the fog to Eric. He seemed as sure of himself and of his control of the situation, as always. Usually, Kendra could see beyond the masks he put on, but if his current expression was a mask, then it was one so good she couldn't see beyond it. But she doubted he truly had things as controlled as he seemed. This was one of the few times she wished her husband wasn't so proud.

Kendra knew she should trust him, though. He was the captain and always had the final word.

For a moment, her eyes turned to Hayes. Unlike Eric, the first mate looked unusually edgy. Obviously Hayes was having trouble trusting Eric.

Eric spun the wheel left. "Fifteen degrees port." he said.

Kendra moved toward him, but Eric immediately gave her a hard look that made her stop in her tracks. It was clear he wasn't in the mood to be argued with.

And that was the first hint she got of the fact he didn't totally feel in control.

"_**We're getting out of here. We'll find clear conditions.**_"

"We have seabed!" Roberts called from his place at the bulwark.

Kendra gave Eric a look that seemed to ask _"You were saying?"_

Hayes scrambled to the wheelhouse's door.

"Depth?" he shouted down at Roberts.

"Twenty-five fathoms."

Hayes turned around. "We're shallowing!" he said.

"Twenty degrees starboard!" Eric barked.

As he started spinning the wheel right, fear began to break through his mask of control.

"Captain, you don't know where the hell you're going!" Hayes shouted.

"Get me another reading!" Eric snapped.

Hayes leaned to the left, locking eyes with Kendra.

"Kendra, tell Eric he must stop the ship!"

Kendra's heart jumped. Hayes only called her by her first name whenever he asked her to help him as a friend. Now, however, he wasn't asking.

She stepped forward and laid her hand on Eric's shoulder. "Eric, Ben is right; you can't keep the ship's course like this. It's foggy, it's night time, it's too dangerous…"

"_**I know what I'm doing, woman!**_" he lashed out, cutting the rest of her sentence off. "And you just get me another reading!" he added to Hayes, his accent growing as thick as a block of steel.

Hayes glared at Eric, but ducked outside and called for another reading.

Kendra looked away from her husband, her face lowered in guilt. She could feel the unease radiating from him. She realized her begging had done little more than add to it.

"Twenty-two fathoms!" Roberts shouted.

"Douse the lights." Eric said to Robbins.

"Aye, aye Captain."

Darkness enveloped the wheelhouse.

Kendra glanced at Eric, trying to ignore the guilt that still pecked at her. She knew it hadn't been correct of her to add to the pressure Eric was being put under, but she also knew it wasn't correct of Eric to ignore wise advice just because he couldn't bring himself to ignore his huge pride. Trying to forget about that for the moment, Kendra turned as much of her attention toward the window as she could.

"Ten fathoms!" Roberts shouted from below.

* * *

Jimmy tucked his copy of _Heart of Darkness_ and his flashlight under one arm, and clung to the mast with his other. His eyes went over the fog like a fine-tooth comb, trying to make out anything that wasn't the condensed water. His heart beat faster and faster as the minutes crawled by. All the stories Lumpy had ever told him about Skull Island and the new information Denham had confessed about the place ran through his mind over and over again. A bank of fog that seemed to erupt from the sea was at the beginning of every one of those stories – just like the one they were currently sailing through.

Jimmy kept trying to make out anything through the fog's milky whiteness, but it was no good. Jimmy's unease grew. Just because no threat could be seen, didn't mean that it wasn't there. And because the fog was so thick, it wasn't likely Jimmy-or anyone else for that matter, would see a threat until it was right on top of them.

As the fog thinned out, a dark shape loomed right at its edge. Jimmy's breath froze. That shadow was huge, making the _Venture_ look as small as a toy in comparison. As the fog became ever thinner, Jimmy started to make out more and more of the sinister contours to the figure. His breath kept frozen, but his heart was beating like hell.

A massive reef rose from the sea, black as night. But human hands had carved it grotesquely. That wall of rock was something straight out of Jimmy's worst nightmares.

Forcing his tongue to unglue itself from the bottom of his mouth, Jimmy shouted at the top of his lungs, "Wall! There's a wall ahead!"

* * *

Down at the wheelhouse, Englehorn heard Jimmy's warning, but his ears refused to believe it.

_A wall? What's the kid talking about? There's no way there can be a bloody wall in the middle of the Indian Ocean!_

But slowly, the wall began to materialize out of the fog. Shock washed over him like a wave of icy water. A steep cliff rose out of the water in front of them. It was clearly a natural rock, but it had been carved so that rocky spikes were erupting all over its surface. And some of those spikes were pointing straight toward the _Venture._

"Full astern both!" Englehorn shouted.

Hayes pulled the telegraph levers to the proper position. Meanwhile, Kendra moved to the door on the other side of the wheelhouse.

"Stand by to drop anchor!" she shouted.

Drop anchor? Was the woman insane? They couldn't drop anchor so close to the reef! If they did, a wave would send it against the rocks, and the _Venture_'s hull would be turned into a sieve.

Below them, the engines started to work in the opposite direction, but the ship's weight kept propelling it forward. The _Venture_'s prow crept toward the wall with sickening steadiness.

Collision was imminent.

But, just as the Venture was less than ten feet away from the imposing chunk of rock, the ship stopped and then started moving backwards as the engines' strength started to have an effect.

* * *

Clutching Ann tightly to his chest, Jack was panting. He'd thought the ship would be crushed into tiny pieces against that rock wall that rose hauntingly out of the sea. Thank God, it hadn't. Now they were starting to move backwards, away from the wall, and hopefully from this damned place.

But suddenly, as the fog thinned out more, Jack saw something appearing at the ship's starboard bow. A black chunk of rock rose out of the water like the finger of some underwater giant, ready to come down on the _Venture_ and break it in half. Beyond it, there was another similar rock, looking like another finger from the same hand of some underwater monster.

"Rocks!" Jack shouted at the top of his lungs.

Jack's head jerked around. More rocks erupted from the water. It was as if they were surrounded by underwater stone giants.

"Rocks!"

* * *

"Rocks to starboard, Captain!" Jimmy shouted. "Rocks to port! Rocks everywhere!"

"Rocks!" Chaves shouted somewhere from behind.

Cursing in German, Englehorn finally saw a place that seemed wide enough to get the ship into without damaging it.

"Full ahead!" he shouted. He turned the ship to port, toward the gap between those clawed stone fingers that came from the sea. It seemed as if the passing _Venture_ had awakened long-sleeping sea monsters who were trying to drag the ship underwater for lunch.

The ship passed between the stony fingers without harm, but the heavy swell was making the steering difficult.

A stony pillar erupted from the water right in front of them.

"Twenty degrees port, Eric!" Kendra shouted from the wheelhouse's door. "I see a wide gap there!"

Englehorn could see nothing from his position, but he trusted Kendra. The ship's starboard side had been about to scrape on the sharp rocks, but it escaped that fate. Barely.

A heavy swell pushed the ship to port and toward another of those hooked fingers that erupted from the water.

Eric pushed the helm starboard. Again, the _Venture_ narrowly missed the protruding rock.

Eric felt Kendra shove past him. She grabbed a hold of the telegraph wheels and swung them to full stop.

"_**ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL US, WOMAN?**_" he bellowed.

Looking like she hadn't even heard him, Kendra moved over to the wheelhouse's door from where she had come.

"Drop anchor!" she shouted.

Eric heard the heavy chain rattling and then the splash of the anchor. The woman was insane. Englehorn braced himself for the impending doom.

The ship lurched violently under his feet. Hayes and Robbins shouted in surprise from behind him. Kendra stumbled toward him. Englehorn flung out an arm and caught her, gripping the helm as tightly as possible with the other. The force of Kendra's impact against his arm nearly ripped him off his hold.

The ship shook a little bit more, but, thank God, it soon stopped. Standing straight, with Kendra almost draped over his left arm, Englehorn gave looked around the wheelhouse. Both Hayes and Robbins looked shaken, but otherwise they seemed alright.

He heard nothing but the great swells lapping against the sides of the ship and the heavy breathing of everyone in the wheelhouse. Eric allowed himself an inward sigh of relief. If the crew wasn't running about in a panic, everything should be alright. Still, he had to know for sure.

"Hayes, check the hull and the prop shaft." Eric sounded surer of himself than he felt.

"Yes sir."

As the first mate moved away, and Robbins went back into the wireless room, Eric took his other arm to Kendra, and put her in front of him. The look on her face indicated she was the most shaken of the whole wheelhouse, but she seemed to have suffered no injury further than being scared out of her wits.

Ignoring the fact they were not in a private place, Eric wrapped his arms around Kendra.

"I don't know what you thought you were doing, but you saved the damn ship." He whispered into her hair, is voice hoarse. Eric felt her nod her head against his shoulder. It was a small, jerky movement.

Eric grasped Kendra by the upper arms and pushed her out of his embrace. Kendra looked up at him. He was surprised to see tears welling up in her eyes.

"_**I'm sorry.**_" she managed. "_**It seemed like the right thing to do, but now that I think about it..." **_She shuddered. _**"It could have just ripped the ship in half."**_

"We got lucky."

Suddenly overwhelmed by the fact that they were alive, Eric pulled Kendra back into his embrace and kissed her.

* * *

Carl Denham was leaning against the ship's railing. That was close. Too close. The tramp steamer could have very well crashed against the rocks and ended up as thousands of splinters. But the ship was still afloat and intact, and the crew and passengers unharmed. He was still alive, and so was his film, and that was all Carl cared about at the moment.

All around Carl, the crewmen were busy going to and fro. Some were shouting orders, others carrying out the orders, one of which was, apparently, making sure everyone was accounted for.

As he looked around the ship, Carl's eyes snagged on something very interesting. Jack was holding on to that English woman, Ann Darrow, with an unexpectedly protective stance. The two looked at each other in a way that brought a sly smile to Carl's lips.

It was obvious to Carl that his playwright friend had been pining for Darrow's niece; that much had been obvious whenever he caught Jack looking at Miss Darrow or the way Jack defended her. But in all the time Carl had known Jack, one of the most certain things about the man was that Jack could win a woman's heart as well as a bison could drive a Buick. Or so Carl had thought. But the way both Jack and Ann were holding and looking at each other, suggested to the movie producer how deep their relationship obviously had become.

Carl filed away this new turn of events just in case he could use it to his advantage at a later time.

He turned his attention back to the fog, which was now slowly thinning out on the ship's port side. The fog continued to clear, and as it did, Carl could finally see a huge, dark reef coming into focus. The reef had initially been just a rock, but, who knows how long ago, someone had sculpted this rock to make it look like the face of a gorilla. Its eyes were stone cold and expressionless, and its mouth, fully open in a silent blood-freezing roar, bared sharp fangs. It looked so terrifying and real that chills ran through up and down his spine. Carl had to shout firmly in his head 'It's only a stone!' for them to stop.

As the _Venture _bobbed up and down in the swelling waves, the fog continued to thin. Carl discovered that there were more gorilla-carved stones of varying sizes all around the ship.

But the first one Carl had seen was the most impressive by far. It towered over the tramp steamer, and looked as if it was concentrating on something _beyond_ the ship. A sudden thought coming over him, Carl followed the head's gaze, excitement bursting through him. On cue, the fog thinned out there, revealing the sight Carl had longed for during the last six weeks. The irony was not lost on him. They'd found it the moment they had stopped looking for it. It was absurd! Carl smiled. He felt like jumping as high as he could and shoot his clenched fist up with a shout of 'Victory!'

_Defeat is always momentary._

His movie maker's eyes immediately started to scrutinize the landmass in front of him. With the fog nearly gone, more and more of the island was revealed. Carl saw that the landmass extended from his left to his right as far as eye could see. The whole shoreline was made up of impossibly jagged cliffs. The only place that looked accessible was a rocky peninsula that was cut off from the rest of the island by a massive wall.

Carl recognized the wall from the story the Norwegian captain had told him. According to the man, the wall was about a hundred feet tall, but Carl wasn't sure about whether that fact was accurate. There were trees even taller than the wall seen over it, and the color that ruled the island beyond the wall and the cliffs was green. It seemed that the captain had spoken accurately when he told that there was a dense tropical jungle behind the huge wall. Carl noticed some of the cliffs also had been carved into heads of roaring gorillas.

Beyond all that, and indeed looking like it cut the island in half, was a mountain range. The central peaks were covered with snow. Considering they were almost on top of the equator, Carl figured the mountain range was at least as tall as Mount Kilimanjaro.

But it was the central peak that made Carl absolutely certain he'd arrived at his destination. Just as the Norwegian had described, it looked like a human skull. What an eerie natural occurrence; no civilization would have ever been capable of carving something so enormous.

In spite of the general mood of unease around him, the confirmation that this was the correct destination and that most of the Norwegian's story was true filled him with an almost crazing happiness. His dreams would all come true. He'd finally be on the top as he deserved. He'd show the world that he wasn't a loser.

"This is it." he whispered to himself as though it was some absolute truth Jesus Christ had proclaimed Himself. "The Island of the Skull."

Hearing footsteps behind him, Carl realized his filming crew had arrived. All of them – cameraman, soundman, and assistant. They looked at the island as though it was the most spectacular and terrifying sight they'd ever had. That was exactly the kind of look Carl hoped audiences throughout the world would have on their faces as the last blank space of the map was projected onto the big screen.

Behind his filming crew came Bruce Baxter and Alexandra May, both wearing robes and looking disheveled. And judging from their confused looks, they had absolutely no idea what had happened or what was going on.

Bruce scratched his stubbly jaw. "So this is Singapore, huh?"

"I've never seen this part of it in any of the travel brochures I've read." Alexandra said. Unlike her male partner, she sounded a lot more suspicious about what she was seeing. She turned her gaze on Carl. He had seen that look a lot of times before. In it, he read the demand_, 'I want an explanation, and I want it now!'_

Carl lifted his arms in an appeasing gesture.

"I'll explain everything later, alright?"

Alexandra's look stayed as hard as it was, but thankfully she didn't press the matter. Satisfied, Carl looked back at his filming crew. They had finally torn their eyes away from the island. Their faces all asked the same question.

'_What now?'_

"We go to that island and make the greatest film ever known to man."

Carl would not leave the island without his movie, for doing so would be the same as sailing away without his life.

* * *

Standing close to the railing with Jack wrapping his arms around her, Ann made her first analysis of Skull Island – the deepest analysis she could make with her eyes from this distance.

Her first conclusion was that even if she'd never read Valdemar's diary, she'd have said the island looked scary. Worse, it was hard to say which part of it was scarier. Was it the heads of roaring gorillas erupting all around them, or the mountain that was the island's namesake, grinning like a skull from a Jolly Roger? Both those things sent shivers all across her.

The memory of the ape figurine she and her uncle had found came back to her mind. Now she knew for sure that some ape-worshipping civilization had lived on the island at some point – but that knowledge did nothing to ease her fears. Valdemar's diary spoke about ruins, and signs of cult paid to a monstrous creature, from which Valdemar had brought evidence in the way of the ape-like figurine. Now that she thought of it, Valdemar's description of the monsters he'd described as the most terrifying creatures on the island was a close match to the description of a giant ape. But no ape could grow to the size Valdemar had described. There just _had_ to be some of Valdemar's imagination working on that part!

Another look at the carved ape-heads gave her the impression all of them shouted warnings at the visitors, as if telling them they were not welcome there and should go away if they knew what was best.

Ann could not help but to agree with them. Unfortunately, the decision of going away or not didn't belong to her.

The sound of footsteps caught her attention. Uncle Leonard had approached, but it looked as if he had not even seen her. He only had eyes for the island. Eyes that held none of the apprehension Ann felt inside her. If anything, Leonard looked like someone whose wildest dreams had just come true.

But there was more to it than that. There was a reckless look about him that made him look possessed.

"Uncle Leonard?"

Leonard snapped out of his trance when he heard her voice.

"Ann, my dear." he said. "I didn't see you there."

Ann felt uneasy. The Uncle Leonard she knew wouldn't notice an island before her.

_But people change._ A voice told her on the back of her mind.

Yes, people did change. Ann only hoped their arrival at Skull Island wouldn't make her dear uncle unrecognizable.

Suddenly, Leonard's eyes narrowed, and an unpleased look came to them. Ann wondered what could be the reason for such a look, when she felt Jack's arms tighten around her.

She turned her head and looked up at Jack. His expression was as hard as steel. Ann was happy to see him so protective of her, but she was fearful that Jack and her uncle would start some sort of conflict.

She doubted they'd ever resort to physical violence, but even a clash of wills was something she didn't want at the moment. Although Skull Island didn't yet leave her in the absolute despair Valdemar had experienced so many centuries ago, she wanted to keep her mind as clear as possible at the moment – and an argument between Jack and her uncle wouldn't help. Perhaps she could nip it in the bud.

Fortunately, right at that moment, she saw Captain Englehorn and Kendra walking toward them. The captain looked confident. Apparently, he didn't seem unnerved by their current situation – at least, not anymore.

"Good evening Captain, good evening Kendra." Ann called far louder than it was necessary for the distance that separated them.

She noticed both Jack and her uncle snapped out of their glare-duel at her shout.

"You don't need to shout, Miss Darrow." the Captain remarked in a brisk tone. "We're not deaf."

Kendra didn't say anything. She just gave Ann an understanding look. Apparently, she'd understood the reasons behind the loud volume of her voice.

Jack and her uncle seemed about to go back to their glare-exchange, so Ann kept trying to keep them distracted.

"Do you have anything important to tell us?" she again said at the Captain, trying not to sound too loud.

"I have, Miss Darrow." he said. "I want you all to pay attention."

His turned aside, and his look hardened. Following his eyes, Ann saw Carl Denham, his actors, and his filming crew and cast.

"This is valid for you too, Denham, so you'd better come here and listen." Englehorn added.

Denham looked far from pleased at the idea of hearing whatever was to come, but even so, he walked toward them, after letting out a grumble.

"Very well then, shoot." Denham said. "But shoot quickly; I don't have all night to stand here."

After giving Denham a look even harder than his previous one, Englehorn began speaking.

"Well, as you can all see, the _Venture_ strayed from its original course. But even so, in spite of the dangerous waters we have encountered, the ship is firmly anchored, undamaged, and no one is injured."

Leonard gave the Captain a confused look.

"Strayed from its course? What do you mean strayed from its course? This is Skull Island, Captain, the destination we had agreed."

"No, Mr. Darrow." Englehorn said. "Skull Island was the destination we had agreed until I decided to change course to Rangoon."

"But why?" he said, as though Englehorn was doing something totally inconceivable.

Both Englehorn and Kendra got sardonic smirks on their faces at that question.

"Ask Denham." Kendra said.

Ann turned her eyes to the movie producer, who was scowling at the Englehorns. While the apprehension inside her decreased slowly, she couldn't help to be curious at what he had done exactly to cause the change of course. Besides, there was one thing that didn't please her at all. Denham was quiet – _uncharacteristically_ quiet. She didn't know him very well, but from she'd learned about him, her expectations were that Denham would be speaking like a possessed man in an effort to get Englehorn to change his mind. But Denham was still silent as a stone.

If he was quiet, though, her uncle was far from so.

"But Captain…"

"However carrying on with our new course is not possible – for now." Englehorn interrupted. "We can't be sure of the direction to take at night with all this fog all around us. So we stay here 'till morning."

Leonard again tried to argue, but Englehorn lifted his hand cutting off whatever speech was about to come. His look suddenly became so menacing and hard that Ann felt a shiver running through her, as he added, "Anyone who tries to go ashore will be facing very dire consequences."

Looking as a kid who'd just been denied all of his Christmas gifts, Leonard stammered, "But Captain, can't I just make one…"

"Neither you nor anyone else is going ashore, Mr. Darrow." Englehorn said with a dreadful tone to his voice.

Englehorn turned his gaze toward Denham. The captain's eyes looked like blue fire.

"Don't even think about it."

Denham shivered at the look Englehorn gave him – and Ann couldn't blame him. Even she had shivered, although it wasn't directed at her. Then, Englehorn moved away, followed by Kendra, although she didn't follow her husband without taking the chance to glare at Carl Denham herself.

Meanwhile, Leonard shambled away, presumably to his cabin, his head lowered, and the look on his face suggesting that someone had taken his biggest dreams away from him.

Ann couldn't help but to feel both sad and sorry for her uncle. She doubted any sort of archaeological discovery would have much meaning for him now that he'd been denied a discovery of such magnitude. Part of her wanted to go to him and comfort him, but another part of her was just relieved at the idea that they weren't going to Skull Island anymore. Divided like she seemed to feel so often recently, she remained where she was.

Jack's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "This time tomorrow we'll be well on our way to Rangoon and forgetting that we were ever even here."

Ann nodded, but felt that his words did not ring true.

Her eyes caught a few glimpses of some of the heads of roaring gorillas. They all seemed to be looking directly at her, with cold, stony eyes that sent chills up her spine. As if he'd sensed her distress, Jack started stroking her hair and kissed her cheek. The uneasiness decreased greatly – but some of it remained.

"You're right, Jack." she finally said. "But if you don't mind, I'm going back to my cabin – it's been a tiring day."

"Of course." Jack said. Then, struck by a sudden thought, he asked, "Do you want me to keep you company?"

Ann's eyes widened in amazement, and she almost stepped out of his arms, managing to stop herself only at the last moment. Even with all the shocking things she'd already seen today, such a sentence from Jack's mouth somehow was capable of topping the list by far.

Jack seemed to realize how awkward it sounded, because he raised his free hand, and stammered, "No, Ann, don't get me wrong. I only meant you might not want to be alone, after seeing we're so close to an island with such… well, such an unnerving look as this. I wasn't suggesting anything indecent, alright?"

Her confusion cleared, Ann smiled. "Oh, of course you weren't Jack. But even so, I don't need you to keep me company. Thank you, anyway."

Jack looked her in the eyes. "Are you sure?"

Ann made her best to look honest. Part of her would have liked the idea of Jack keeping her company, but the idea of Jack staying with her in her cabin was not yet a comfortable one.

"I'm sure."

"As you wish."

Ever so slowly, he extracted his hand from hers, and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. "Goodnight, Ann."

Her cheek tingling on the place where Jack had kissed it. Ann leaned up and kissed Jack's lips, running the tips of her fingers across his shaved jaw.

"Goodnight, Jack." she whispered back after they parted.

Jack stepped away from her, and moved back down into his cabin. Looking around her, Ann saw that Denham and his filming crew had also gone away while she was distracted, and that she was now alone on the _Venture_'s deck.

Ann gave a last look at the dark, imposing landmass before she turned around to go to her cabin, hoping she would get some sleep. She remembered Englehorn saying they wouldn't go ashore – but it all seemed too good to be true. She couldn't really believe that this was the end of it, that this would be everything the _Venture_ and all those on it would have to do with the Island of the Skull.

* * *

_Well, here it was. An arrival to Skull Island for all of you. And yes, I am fully aware that in Peter Jackson's movie the Venture crashes against the rocks, just like I am fully aware that in the original 1933 movie the arrival to Skull Island is far calmer than in Peter Jackson's remake or in this chapter. However, I wanted a dramatic arrival to Skull Island, just like I wanted the ship to stay intact - considering the role it will have to play later on. That's why I put here a few more twists. I hope you can live with that._

_And I also hope you give some of your time into writing a review for this chapter - but that's up to you._


	19. Chapter 19: Escape and shame

_Hello, my dear readers. As a start, I want to thank all the ones who are sticking with me through this fanfic in spite of the long periods between updates and the time the plot is taking to unfold itself. However, here it is another chapter, and I honestly hope all of you enjoy it._

_And by the way, seeing as some of my readers are - or at least appear to be - Englehorn fangirls, there's a small treat for you in this chapter._

_Well... now that this is over, let's begin._

* * *

**Chapter 19 – Escape and shame**

_Skull Island, November 7__th__, 1933_

The _S.S._ _Venture_ floated on the choppy, murky sea that surrounded Skull Island. The rocks, both carved and uncarved added eeriness and danger to the last blank space on the map. But throughout the night, the tramp steamer remained firmly anchored, and no more damaged than before arriving to the island. Its deck was deserted, as if the island's appearance had scared the crewmen away into the ship's interior.

Ann Darrow turned over in her cot for what seemed like the one hundredth time since retiring to her cabin. She had been tying in vain to fall asleep for hours, but sleep had refused to come. In spite of her best efforts, Skull Island had been filling her mind ever since she'd first seen it, and the harder she tried, the more it dominated her thoughts. Even if she didn't have passages of Valdemar's diary working on her memory, the way the island looked was just plain creepy.

Taking the knowledge into consideration that she was at a place where so many had died, Ann wondered why she hadn't been running in circles around her cabin barking mad. But so far, she had managed to keep her fear under control.

She and the crew, at least, were on a ship which was not sinking and was firmly anchored. Valdemar and the others, however, had been forced to go onto that island to avoid death. Ann recalled how vain of an effort that had been – but of course, Valdemar and his crewmen couldn't have guessed, but she couldn't help but to wonder just how desperate they had been to have sought refuge on such an awful looking place. If Ann herself had been in such a situation, she just may have held onto a piece of wreckage and tried her luck with the water and the sharks – even considering her fear of those murderers from the depths.

At that moment, rays of pale sunlight shone through the porthole; morning had finally arrived. Soon, the _Venture_ would leave and she would be able to put the whole episode behind her. Thank God Englehorn had finally run out of patience – and thank God for the warrant for Denham's arrest.

The image of the chubby movie director came to her mind's eye. If not for the look in his eyes - beady, reckless, and cunning, Ann would never have pictured Denham as a criminal. But according to Jack, the movie producer had no qualms at crossing lines.

Ann wondered if this situation didn't call for Denham to cross lines.

No matter how optimistic she tried to be, she couldn't believe that Denham – and Dollar and her uncle as well – would just peacefully accept Englehorn's command. They were _bound_ to try to sneak away from the ship, if they hadn't done so already.

_No._ _If Uncle Leonard decided to go to the island, surely he would take her with him. He hadn't changed that much, had he?_

Her dear uncle had already changed far too much for her taste – everything because of Skull Island.

Ann had considered going to the Captain and telling him of her suspicions that her uncle and Denham would try to sneak off the _Venture_. But this was the biggest opportunity of her uncle's career! How could she do it? Ann knew she could not bear the guilt if she wrecked Leonard's chances at the discovery of a lifetime.

Of course they would all be smart enough to arm themselves. Dollar had brought an arsenal with him. They'd be safe with the guns.

_Hopefully,_ a voice in the back of her mind said.

"Oh, just shut up." Ann muttered.

Suddenly, someone was knocking at her cabin door. Ann stood up at lightning speed.

"Who is it?" She demanded.

"Jack." His voice sounded muffled through the door.

Taken off guard, Ann took a few moments to react. She had been expecting a sailor – and she'd been prepared to give the man a tongue lashing for no other reason than to drain out her frustration. The thought was enough to make Ann lower her head, ashamed of even thinking about doing such a thing, but the magnitude of what was pent up inside was enough to change her behavior.

"Ann?" Jack made himself heard again.

"Sorry, come in, Jack." Ann finally managed.

Jack entered the cabin, a wary look on his face.

"Are you alright?"

Ann noticed every word of that sentence was spoken with caution. Apparently, he had realized how her voice was unusual even through the door.

"I'm just fine." she said, trying to convince herself as much as Jack.

Jack nodded, but apparently her answer hadn't been enough, for he kept giving her the same wary look from before. Ann looked around, as if the way of dispelling the awkwardness filling her cabin was on a shelf and she could go and pick it up.

"You're up early." she said, hoping to get that look off his face with a change of subject.

It worked.

"You remember the little speech Englehorn gave shortly after we arrived, don't you?"

"Of course."

Jack waved his right arm as though he was handing her a platter.

"Englehorn doesn't want them to go ashore, so naturally, Carl, your uncle and Dollar are trying to sneak out. They've already gotten some people to go with them – me included."

Ann took her hands toward the ceiling and then slapped her thighs, exhaling deeply.

"I knew it." She said not bothering to mask her dismay. "I just knew it."

And never before had Ann felt so bad at being right.

"I don't understand why they are so desperate to go. I am not looking forward to going ashore at all."

Then, he added in a lower voice, like a child confessing a prank to his parents, "Not wanting to sound a coward, but that place looks scary."

"I agree one hundred percent." Ann said as some of her knowledge about Skull Island working in her mind. _And it is scary. More than you can ever imagine._ She wanted to add, but she decided to keep that bit to herself.

Jack opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could make any sound, he closed it and instead lifted his pointer finger, as if a sudden thought had struck him.

"Your uncle said you would want to go. That's why I'm here; to let you know they are ready to leave."

Ann nodded.

Then, Jack's look became more serious. "Are you sure you want to go? I mean, wouldn't you be fine if you just stayed behind?"

The honest answer to both of those questions was '_No_'. If she stayed on the ship, she'd be chewing herself with worry at what could be happening to Jack and the others on the island. Even if it was deserted, the terrain looked hostile. It was very possible someone could get hurt. As for wanting to go – she wasn't eager, but she knew she had to keep an eye on her uncle. And, as scary as the island looked, there was still a part of her that looked forward to see and set foot on that place where no white man had ever been before.

_A place from where no white man ever returned to tell the tale, you mean,_ a voice told her at the back of her head.

Ann shut it off before it could start saying anything else that could scare her out of going. If she had to go, she was going now.

"I'm going, Jack." she said.

"You don't appear as if you're looking forward to it."

"I didn't say I was looking forward to it." Ann insisted. "I said I'm going. And that's it."

"Very well, the decision is yours."

Then, a mischievous smile appeared on his lips, and he walked closer to her.

"But, seeing as that island looks so dark and everything, I guess I need to brighten you up before we go."

For the briefest of moments Ann was taken off-guard by Jack Driscoll's attitude. It wasn't like him to be so mischievous – daring even. But before she could do anything, Jack took her chin in his hand, and lowered his head toward hers. Soon, their lips met.

Ann lost awareness of how long the kiss lasted, but she knew that when it ended, it was too soon for her.

"You're already looking brighter." Jack said with a smile. "Now let's see if we can get you radiant."

Ann smiled, her cheeks bright pink. She knew she had to get going, but just a second kiss wouldn't hurt.

And when their lips met again, it didn't. In fact, it felt even better than the previous one.

"Not as radiant as you could be, I guess." Jack said. "But I can make some extra work on that."

Jack started moving his face forward again, but Ann lifted her hand and met his lips with the tips of her fingers.

"Jack, as much as I would love to continue, if we do this one or two times more, we'll probably end up staying here the rest of the day.

"I think staying here kissing you is more enjoyable than going ashore – mainly when it involves disobeying orders."

"You have a point." Ann said. "But like I said, I do have to go to that island, to keep an eye on my uncle."

"And I'd better keep an eye on Carl." Jack managed to crack a grin. "He'll most likely be too excited filming and planning the movie to pay attention to the way, and his crew will be too burdened to help him on that point. If no one is there to help him, he'll end up breaking his neck."

"So it looks like we both have to go." Ann said. "As much as we'd prefer to stay here."

Jack started walking toward the door, Ann following him.

"Well, we can't always do what we want." the writer said as he shrugged his shoulders.

"That's true. But what I need to do now is to get dressed. Could you please wait for me outside?"

"Of course."

As Jack left her cabin, Ann got the same white blouse, tan trousers, and knee-high leather boots she had worn on the previous day when she'd gone out while they crossed the fog. After getting dressed, she decided to put on a coat.

Then, she finally left her cabin.

"Ready?"

Ann took a deep breath and then took Jack's hand. Was she ready? In truth, probably not.

* * *

Pacing in circles in front of one of the _Venture_'s large lifeboats, Carl Denham cursed under his breath and opened his arms to the sky yet again. That got him strange looks from some of the sailors, but he paid little attention to them. Where in the hell was Jack with that English woman? In spite of all her flaws, Ann Darrow hardly seemed to be the type of woman who took the most time to choose what clothes to wear.

Carl briefly wondered if the two somehow had gotten distracted and were kissing, but that was an unlikely idea. A man like Jack hardly graduated to actual kissing so soon into a relationship. Or so Carl figured. But then again, Carl had also once figured that it would be more likely Jack Driscoll would find a chicken with teeth than finding a girlfriend, and yet the man had proved Carl wrong.

In an effort to calm down, Carl pulled the hip flask he always carried in his pocket, and cursed at Jack's slowness yet again, before taking a deep swig.

It was bad enough Englehorn was forcing Carl to sneak off the ship, but the fact Jack was taking so long in getting the girl wasn't improving the situation in any way. The trip to Skull Island would be no worse if Ann Darrow didn't go, but Leonard Darrow had insisted. He said his niece would certainly want to see the island, which for some reason had earned the Englishman a hard look from Jack. Carl had been about to send Preston to get Ann, but Jack had told that he'd get her and went off before anyone could do anything about it.

Dollar had speculated that Jack would just turn them in to Englehorn, but Carl was certain his playwright and friend wouldn't do so. After all, the night before, Carl had reminded Jack of the secret he didn't want anyone to learn. Jack wouldn't turn him in as long as Carl had that weapon in his hands – or mouth.

As he lowered his flask, Carl glanced at the lifeboat. Preston, Mike, and Herb were already inside and ready to go. Bruce and Alexandra were just now climbing into the vessel. Carl's ears buzzed for a moment as he caught sight of his lead actress. Bruce had barely registered any emotion at the fact they would be filming on Skull Island instead of Singapore, and had even said filming on an uncharted island would be exciting. Alexandra, on the other hand, threw a tantrum, feeling she had been purposefully lied to. The damned woman had given him the longest lecture he had ever heard. Not only had she harangued him about the new filming location, but she went on and on about having been deceived, about him daring to keep this a secret for so long, and about the rough way how the ship had stopped last night.

But in the end, Alexandra had, with annoyance and irritation, accepted the fact that hey were going to shoot the movie on Skull Island, which just proved how badly she needed a career boost. The great Alexandra May was aging, and she knew that an exotic film locale just might be the thing to give her the edge over the ever increasing number of younger actresses flooding the film industry.

Carl watched as Darrow, Dollar and his four goons, and four of the six crewmen he had convinced to accompany them to the island walked toward the lifeboat. The all hoisted themselves into the boat one by one until the only people left to climb aboard were the two sailors ready to lower the boat into the water, Carl, and Jack and Miss Darrow.

The sound of footsteps reaching his ears, Carl turned his head toward them. Thank God, Jack finally had come, accompanied by Ann, who was gripping his hand. Jack looked very protective of her.

Carl grunted in annoyance. The last thing in the world he needed was a scriptwriter in a new romance. But there was no use confronting Jack about it at the moment. They had to get out of there before Englehorn, Englehorn's wife, or Hayes noticed them leaving.

"Took you long enough!" he said, taking care to keep his tone low. "Now let's get going!"

Carl climbed aboard the lifeboat with some difficulty. Jack did the same, and then extended his hand to Ann to help her in. As he pulled up, Ann searched the lifeboat and its occupants with an anxious gaze.

"I don't see any guns."

Carl slapped his forehead. Why did the woman have to waste time with questions? He didn't even see why they would need guns; they were just going to a peninsula with nothing more than barren rock!

Crabtree, the sailor with a dark-brown moustache, said "We can't take guns, Miss Darrow. All the guns we have are inside the Captain's cabin. He's in there with the missus at the moment."

Ann turned to Dollar. "Are the guns you brought also inside Captain Englehorn's cabin?"

Surprise opening its way through his hurry, Carl looked at Dollar for a moment. He had no idea the gangster had brought guns along. But it made sense to have such a care on this trip, now that he thought better about it. Skull Island was uncharted. Even if the stories of the monsters on it were mere fairytales, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Dollar gave Ann an angry look at her question. But his anger didn't seem directed at her.

"We can't take those." Dollar snarled. "Englehorn hid them somewhere, and we can't look for them now."

Ann looked scared. Damn that English woman! Couldn't she just get over whatever was upsetting her and get on the damned lifeboat?

"We won't need them anyway, my dear." Leonard Darrow broke in. "I looked through the binoculars; the peninsula is deserted."

Although Darrow's tone was reassuring, the Englishwoman was not convinced. But they could wait no longer.

"Just get on the rowboat!"

Right as Carl finished that sentence, he heard a new voice.

"Aren't you a little bit old to be sneaking out?"

Carl jumped. Several others on the lifeboat had the same reaction, and all for the same reason.

Carl turned around and saw Chester Brown standing there with his arms crossed and a cool look on his face. The man needed to have been really quiet to have been able to walk up without being noticed by anyone.

Carl sneered at Brown. The filmmaker did not like Chester, or the man's friend, Steve Bennett. There was just something about the way both of them moved and seemed to notice everything going on around them that made Carl uneasy.

"Good morning, everyone." Brown said. He sounded like a teacher greeting his students. At least, Brown certainly had taught Carl one thing now: never get too distracted.

"What are you doing here?" Dollar demanded.

Brown jammed his hands into the pockets of his overcoat. "I could ask you the same thing." He rocked back and forth on his heels.

Dollar stood up in the boat. His sudden movement set the boat swaying. Dollar reached out and grabbed the sides of the vessel to steady himself.

"Mind your business, Brown."

Chester's sharp gaze swept across everyone on the small boat. "If I recall, everyone remains on the ship, Captain's orders."

Dollar's wolf-like eyes narrowed. "You gonna go squeal? I wouldn't recommend it."

Dollar gave his goons a quick, sharp gesture. All four of them instantly looked ready to pounce.

Brown smiled, and still with that cool look on his face that annoyed Carl to no limits, the man pulled the right side of his overcoat open. The gesture revealed a pistol holstered at Brown's hip.

Carl's eyebrows climbed in surprise. Why would the man have a gun? Was he some sort of member from the New York underworld? Or was it something else?

"Let's not get excited, boys." Brown said in a calm voice.

Jack spoke up., "Where did you get that gun?"

"It's something I acquired during the time I spent in the Air ROTC when I attended New York University." Chester explained. "I decided to bring it along just in case. Good thing I did, don't you think?"

Carl glanced at Dollar. The gangster didn't seem to think the situation was suspicious. If anything, he seemed to be seething with anger at the fact that his bodyguards' brute force was no longer a means of keeping Brown's trap shut.

Chester let his overcoat slide closed and said, "Now that I have your attention, listen up. I didn't say I was going to turn you in. As a matter of fact, I want to come with you. I need to get the hell off this boat, and besides, I want to be part of the first group of white men to set foot on that island." Chester took a few steps toward the lifeboat and gave Dollar a pointed look. "And you'll let me, won't you, Dollar?"

The gangster clenched his fists at his side, and then flung one arm out toward Brown. "I don't care. Just don't get in my way." He snarled.

"Right then, Brown." Carl said, his impatience reaching the snapping point. "Get in, and let's get going, for Christ's sake!"

Brown and Ann, who had been watching the exchange between Chester and Dollar as if she had been watching a tennis match, entered the lifeboat. Ann sat down next to Jack, and Brown chose a spot at the boat's edge behind Chaves, who sat at one of the paddles. Not without difficulty, Carl took his own place at the prow of the lifeboat, where his camera and tripod were sitting.

After lowering the lifeboat, Crabtree and another crewman whose name Carl did not know, slid down the ropes to climb aboard, and then all six sailors aboard started rowing toward the island. Carl gripped his tripod.

Finally he could start shooting what he'd truly come for.

* * *

"Captain! Captain! Wake up!"

Captain Eric Englehorn snapped wide awake. He heard someone knocking on the door of his cabin at a fast and alarmed rhythm. Kendra, lying on the side of the bed closer to the door, gracefully slid off the bed and ran over to the door. Eric shot up like an arrow and followed his wife, arriving at the cabin's door only a moment after she'd opened it.

"What is it?" both Eric and Kendra asked at the same time.

Jimmy stood at the door, but now that it was open, the message he had been so obviously eager to deliver had frozen in his mouth.

The kid's face turned redder than a tomato, and his eyes darted about, looking everywhere but at the Captain and his wife. Eric wondered what could have drained away the kid's urgency so suddenly.

Then, Eric noticed Kendra right at his side, looking at Jimmy both eagerly and a little confused at his change of attitude. It didn't take more than a glance at her for Eric to understand why the kid looked as he would faint at any moment.

Kendra was clad only in her underwear and one of his old undershirts she used as pajamas when they were sailing in warmer climates. Kendra seemed so interested in the reason why Jimmy had been pounding at their cabin door, that she obviously didn't care she was standing barely clothed in front of the young man. Eric suppressed a smile. The poor kid. Kendra had probably just gained the title of the woman with the least amount of clothes on Jimmy had ever seen.

Eric nudged Kendra with his elbow and bent down to whisper into her ear. "_**Get something else on, would you? You're upsetting the kid.**_"

A look of realization flooded Kendra's face, and a faint blush crossed her tanned cheeks. Apparently, she had forgotten how scantily she was dressed in the hurry to listen to what Jimmy wanted to say.

"_**Of course.**_"

Eric closed the door a little and slipped out into the hallway. Jimmy looked relieved by no longer having to stare at the captain's wife.

Englehorn cleared his throat. "What is it?"

Eric saw the kid was still somewhat nervous, but this time it definitely wasn't because Eric was only wearing boxer shorts in front of him.

Jimmy looked down at his feet. "Well, Captain…"

After last night, Eric's patience was shot. "Spit it, kid!" Eric shouted.

Jimmy jumped when he heard his Captain's shout. Eric cursed in his mind. He did like the kid – in some ways, the kid was almost like a son – but sometimes he just couldn't have the proper tolerance with him.

Jimmy gulped. "You'd better come on deck and see for yourself, Captain."

With that, he scampered away.

Rubbing his stubbled chin, Eric closed the door and went to get some clothes on.

As he got to their sleeping chamber, he saw Kendra hadn't even started buttoning up her weathered yellow shirt. Apparently, she had paid more attention to listening to what Jimmy was saying than to getting dressed. Now, she finally turned her attention back to the task at hand.

As she buttoned the shirt's lower buttons down, she asked, "_**What do you think is going on?**_"

Eric grabbed an undershirt from the closet. "_**Hell if I know.**_"

Kendra rolled up her shirt's sleeves to her elbow." _**I smell trouble.**_"

"_**You smell Carl Denham.**_"

* * *

Kendra put her captain cap on and then buckled on her holster. She picked up her M1911 pistol and checked the magazine. Satisfied, Kendra dug a tie out of her pocket and, fingers flying, braided her hair.

Eric stood by door armed with his Luger P08. **"**_**Ready?"**_

Kendra nodded. They hurried out of the cabin and down the corridor, Eric in the lead.

By the angle of the sun, Kendra knew it was close to ten in the morning. She was grateful that, although the sky was cloudy, most of the fog had been burned off.

Kendra saw Jimmy standing at the ship's railing, pointing out into the water. He looked anxious and alarmed. Her eyes followed his outstretched arm and immediately saw what the problem was. As she and Eric had been asleep, one of the lifeboats had been taken. Clearly, someone had disobeyed the orders Eric had given.

"Look there!" Jimmy shouted.

Kendra and Eric rushed to the railing. She could only barely make out who was on that lifeboat. She saw Denham with his filming crew, Dollar with his goons, Ann, Jack, Leonard Darrow, and Chester Brown. Rowing the lifeboat toward the island were Crabtree, Chaves, Aldous, Koppel, Flamand, and Clarke.

"It looks like Mr. Denham's mounting a one man invasion." Eric said from her right.

Kendra cursed under her breath. She should have known Denham wouldn't just sit tight and wait for morning and the _Venture_'s departure without trying anything stupid. And both Darrow and Dollar seemed just as willing to get to Skull Island as Denham. Eric should just have locked them up in a cage last night. But it was too late.

Eric folded his arms and glared at the retreating lifeboat. Hayes joined the Englehorns at the railing. He looked even more disgusted than Eric.

"You want me to bring them back?"

"I don't give a damn about Carl Denham, Leonard Darrow, or Thomas Davison. What I want you to do is tell the crew not to get too comfortable. We're getting the hell away from here as soon as the tide turns."

"_**You can't be serious.**_" Kendra whispered, shock and amazement rising within her. "_**They aren't even armed!**_"

Eric's look was stern and his tone hard.

"_**They made their choice to go against my orders. If they are not back by high tide, the problem will also be theirs.**_"

With that he walked away. Kendra ran after him, determined to call him back to reason, which she was certain she would be able to do. Eric had not meant any of those words, and both Kendra and her husband knew it. Eric was merely angry at the people who had left without his permission, both for disobeying him and for the fact they'd given him another problem when he already had trouble to spare. Sooner or later his conscience would convince him to go ashore to get his men and passengers, but Kendra figured it would be better to launch a rescue mission before it was too late.

* * *

_Alright, I know this chapter was small, but still, I hope you've enjoyed it. And before anyone starts complaining about me putting a scantily clad Kendra in it, well... in my defense, I'm a guy, and I'm still rather young. And I bet my Englehorn fangirl readers also have a tendency to picture Thomas Kretschmann shirtless, so at least those shouldn't have moral to come with comments. I know I can't really help them, but then again, they're just comments._

_Either way, like I already said, I hope you've enjoyed this chapter. And I also hope you leave me a review._


	20. Chapter 20: Not an adventure story

_Hello, my dear readers. I am sorry for the amount of time that passed since I last posted a chapter, but I was having a few problems with getting this chapter out. However, those problems are now solved, and as such this chapter is here. I hope all of you enjoy it._

_Thank you to all readers that are still following this story. Oh, and there's a minor crossover with Pirates of the Caribbean down below. Credit for it goes to Unitarian Jihadist.  
_

_Now that this is over, let's begin.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 20 – Not an adventure story**

At one of the sides of the large lifeboat, Chester Brown sat with his arms draped across his lap and his eyes locked on the murky seawater, thoughts about what he just had done playing on his mind.

Perhaps keeping an eye on the _Venture_'s lifeboats and get into the group that had sneaked off the ship was not such a good idea after all. Perhaps he ought to have stayed aboard the _Venture_ without giving a damn about what business Dollar could have on Skull Island. Even if the island was harmless, something which Chester was quite unconvinced of, he already knew there'd be hell to pay later when they went back to the ship. Englehorn would go berserk at all of them disobeying his orders. Steve, who was both Chester's friend and his mentor, would be angry at him for taking such a risk both with his life and with their cover. Steve was older than Chester and more experienced on the job. Chester knew Steve would see his actions as rash. What had he been thinking when he had flashed his pistol at Dollar and his men? Chester was now more than likely to stir a suspicion of some kind in them – or only in Dollar, who in the end was the only one that mattered. But now it was too late to change that. Chester hoped knew what he was doing. It had been a risk, but at least it had been a calculated one.

Chester averted his eyes from the water, focusing them on Dollar instead. The man seemed to not even remember the incident that had taken place shortly before they left the ship. After his initial surge of anger at the fact his four bodyguards could not stop Chester from blabbing whatever he wanted to Englehorn, Dollar had forgotten Chester was even here, having eyes only for Skull Island. The look on Dollar's face was enough to put Chester even more on guard. The gangster looked at Skull Island as though he knew there was a treasure hidden there, and he would do whatever had to be done to find it. And Chester sure knew how far Dollar could go for what he wanted.

Chester looked beyond the lifeboat's prow. The towering, haunting landmass of Skull Island did not put him at ease either. If not for his deep sense of duty, he wouldn't even be here. The island was scary enough alone, but what disturbed him the most was the impossibly high wall that cut off the peninsula from the rest of the island. Lumpy had said the wall was a hundred feet tall, but now that he saw it, Chester wondered if that hadn't been somewhat of an understatement. But even if what Lumpy had told wasn't an understatement, Chester knew there was no wall higher anywhere else in the world. Even the Great Wall of China didn't have half the height of this wall, nor did it look like this wall did, with a row of teeth that looked like those of a carnivorous animal all the way to the top.

Chester could guess the purpose for the wall's existence. Somewhere, on the other side of one of the biggest manmade structures he had ever seen, lurked Kong.

He had no idea what Kong could be exactly. He remembered Denham saying it was a Malayan superstition, and that was the only bit of information the movie director had. Hayes and Lumpy, the only other people who knew anything about it, had said Kong was 'a creature neither beast no man, but something monstrous'.

But what sort of beast would require a barrier like this to keep it at bay?

_I don't know, but that sure as hell doesn't make me feel better. _

Looking around the lifeboat in a new effort to keep his eyes off of Skull Island, Chester saw he wasn't the only one uneasy in the lifeboat. Ann Darrow was holding hands with Jack Driscoll, her eyes darting from one spot to another, stopping whenever they met one of the heads of roaring gorillas carved either on a rock that came out of the water or on a chunk of the island's otherwise jagged cliffs. Preston and Mike were looking at the island with apprehensive looks, and although Chester couldn't see the expression of the cameraman who stood at Denham's side at the prow, Chester could see that Herb's body was tensed. Bruce Baxter and Alexandra May, like Jack and Ann, were holding each other's hands, which surprised Chester somewhat. The sailors were rowing with more strength, Chester guessed, than they normally would, apparently trying not to think of the island. Even Dollar's goons had dropped their normally ridiculously blank looks, their expressions now as apprehensive as everyone else's. And for some reason, that fact alone was enough to make Chester even edgier.

Besides Dollar, there were only two people excited about the island. Darrow was full of enthusiasm about the island, as though it was his dream come true. From an archaeologist's point of view, it probably was.

But the one most excited about this was clearly Denham, who now seemed to be in what Chester defined as 'contained ecstasy'.

"Can you believe this, Jack?" Denham asked his writer as he kept rolling camera. "We've got our picture."

Jack didn't reply to Denham's question, which didn't bother the filmmaker. Nothing would faze him as long as he was going toward his objective.

_I only wonder what that objective is exactly._ Chester thought. _And if even Denham knows what it is. _

_

* * *

_

Benjamin Hayes stood on the _Venture_'s deck, his feet spread apart to steady himself on the swaying deck beneath his feet. His brown eyes threw uneasy looks at the gargantuan stone head of a roaring gorilla that loomed over the _Venture_ like some sort of demon-god, angry at seeing strangers in its domain.

Few things could shake him since he'd fought in the Great War, but seeing that huge statue made Hayes shiver. The statue had left several of the crewmen scared, but the appearance of the thing was not what worried Hayes. He had a very good idea of the sort of creature these statues represented, and he suspected what would happen to them all should they find any such specimen.

The figure of Sam Kelly, the castaway picked up by the Norwegian barque where Hayes had been working his passage ten years ago, flashed across his mind. The man was more maimed than most people Hayes had ever seen wounded in combat. If Hayes remembered it correctly, Kelly had bite marks of some kind of carnivorous predator with a head at least the size of a horse's. Also on Kelly's body were slashes made by huge claws of some horrific beast. On the man's torso were eight distinct and deep slashes. But, even more than Kelly's injuries, it was how mentally shaken the man was that disturbed Hayes. Whatever Kelly had endured had made him go blind, simply because his mind was unable to deal with whatever horrors he had witnessed. Of all the people at whose side he'd fought during The Great War, Hayes had never seen any of them going blind from pure fear.

As he made a mental comparison of his experiences in the war to the horrors Kelly had claimed to have experienced, Hayes's body twitched in a shudder of horror. What Kelly had gone through on Skull Island had made the Great War seem like a walk in the park.

Taking a deep breath in an effort to calm down, Hayes looked toward the wheelhouse. Captain Englehorn and his wife were there, no doubt arguing about what to do in regards to those who had gone ashore. Although Hayes didn't look forward to going ashore, he knew they just couldn't abandon their crewmates there. And he knew sooner or later, a search party would be sent out.

Hayes looked at the empty space where the lifeboat had been. Irritation rushed through him. If Englehorn had listened to him from the beginning, they wouldn't even be here in the first place. But the captain wouldn't hear a word against the voyage, bent on receiving the payment he'd get for the risk. And in the end, what had the payment turned out to be? A piece of paper that wasn't good even to cover the bottom of a parrot's cage.

But with any luck in less than an hour the Captain would retrieve those who had gone ashore, and once they were back on board, they'd be able to set sail and head for Rangoon where they could dump off Denham and all of the other trouble makers. Hopefully, the captain would be able to pick up a cargo in Rangoon so the voyage would not be a total loss.

Then, like a stubborn stain that refused to be scrubbed off, the memories of the story told by Sam Kelly flashed across his mind again. In an effort to have something to pay attention to, Hayes decided to check the status of ship. As he turned, he caught sight of Jimmy sitting on the deck. Hayes could see a book in the boy's hands. He must be reading _Heart of Darkness_. Jimmy was going slowly, having arrived to the middle of the book after six weeks of reading. But as _Heart of Darkness_ was a complex book and most of Jimmy's reading experience had been gained during the four years he spent on the _Venture_, it was little wonder he was having difficulty with the book. Besides, from the questions Jimmy often asked him, Hayes could feel the kid was trying to understand the book as he read it, another thing that contributed to the slow reading.

Curious about what part of the story Jimmy had reached, Hayes moved closer for a better look. Jimmy looked up when Hayes came close as if he'd felt him coming. From the look in his eyes, Hayes could see the kid had a question inside his mind, and wanted to ask it.

Hayes nodded. Jimmy hesitated for a moment before speaking. He sometimes was afraid of asking questions, for fear of looking either stupid or immature. The first mate waited.

Jimmy took a deep breath. "Why does Marlow keep going up the river? Why doesn't he turn back?"

Hayes sighed. He remembered the story very well, and now that he thought of it, he could relate it with another story, one whose ending would affect him.

"There's a part of him that wants to, Jimmy." Hayes explained. "A part deep inside himself that sounds a warning. But there's another part that needs to go, that needs to bring light into the mystery and defeat the thing that makes him afraid."

As he spoke, Hayes thought of Carl Denham. The man, just like Marlow, wanted to bring light into the mysteries. And whenever he did so, he destroyed it, making it no longer an enigma.

Hayes recalled an article he'd read somewhere about Joseph Conrad. Reportedly, the author had loved the blank spaces on maps, and loathed the fact there were less and less of them as he got older. Conrad had understood there were mysteries that should stay that way. Why did Conrad see it, but Denham did not?

The _Venture_'s first mate turned his look back at Skull Island. The sight awakened the memory of a passage of Joseph Conrad's _Heart of Darkness_. A passage Samuel Alexander Kelly had quoted on his last day of life, ten years ago, and that Hayes found himself quoting now.

"_We could not understand because we were too far and could not remember because we were travelling on the night of first ages, of those ages that are gone, leaving hardly a sign – and no memories. We are accustomed to look upon the shackled form of a conquered monster, but there – there you could look at a thing monstrous and free._"

Hayes gripped the railing as he felt a chill go through him. The feeling of dread that the island managed to create on him increased.

"It's not an adventure story." Jimmy finally said. "Is it, Mr. Hayes?"

Hayes looked back at Jimmy, every line of his face turned hard and grim by the combination of what he had seen and what he had recalled.

"No, Jimmy. It's not."

* * *

Although the peninsula cut off from the rest of the island by the massive wall didn't have a look as jagged as the rest of the shoreline, making landfall on it was still harder than it appeared from the _Venture_'s deck. The only place where a boat could go ashore was a rocky beach, slapped by waves and with a lining of pieces of driftwood. And beyond that beach, the only way further inland was through a natural tunnel on the island's cliffs, about forty foot tall and a hundred feet wide. Its entrance shaped like the maw of a massive monster out of a nightmare, capable of sucking everything that came close enough.

Beyond the tunnel's entrance, an ancient stairway elevated itself from the ground, as though it had been built using a natural ledge. On the other side, the only thing there was on the tunnel were stones that erupted from the floor, like lower canine teeth of a huge animal.

The scant sunlight inside it created creepy shadows on the walls, making it seem that there were monsters lurking around. The air was suffocating, ruled by the stench of rotting meat. An occasional rat, squeaking with fright, scurried across the cave floor, its claws rasping against the stone. Gleaming white skulls were scattered along the right hand side of the cave were the most prominent sight in the chilly passage that lead deeper into the island. Some of the skulls were untouched, but others had deep gashes over them or had the braincase smashed, but all of them were giving the same bone-chilling stare with their dark, empty eye sockets.

For those who came from the beach, the tunnel ended on a ledge on the island's cliffs, which in turn followed on for a considerable distance, before veering left. From that point on, the only way deeper inland was across a wooden bridge with weevil-made holes that connected both sides of a huge gap that went all the way through the rocky peninsula, as though a massive knife had come perpendicularly from above and cut the rock in two. The wooden structure creaked and groaned whenever a stronger gust of wind blew over it, but in spite of the tiny punctures on it, it was sound, even when people walked over it. The only dangers of falling came from fear of heights or from getting too nervous if one of the seabirds with wingspans over ten feet that hovered over the gorge came to take a closer look.

On the side of the bridge opposite to the tunnel where they'd come from, Thomas "Dollar" Davison leaned against a rocky wall, taking deep drags on the cigar in his mouth, trying to blow out his impatience along with the smoke. So far, it had only been filming, filming, filming. Whether it was the rocky beach, the people disembarking the boat and stepping foot on Skull Island, the tunnel full of craniums and rats, or the wooden bridge and the people that walked across it, everything seemed to be worthy of being captured for posterity by Carl Denham's Bell & Howell.

It was just footage, footage, and more footage, and Dollar was sick of it.

He would have already carried on with his plan to get money from this damned chunk of land, but he couldn't just leave Denham here and start searching alone, because if he did so, the risk that the _Venture_'s crewmen and Chester Brown would rebel and row back to the ship by themselves was high. Dollar was convinced that the idiots would strand him and that Englehorn would have no qualms about leaving him and his bodyguards behind. He had never wanted to be in Englehorn's good graces, and for Dollar, the _Venture_ was a rust bucket full of fleas, dung, and straw. But it was also his only way back to New York – and to all of his wealth.

Dollar had considered leaving two of his bodyguards with the main group while the other two went with him to the island, but Dollar had come to the conclusion it was too risky. One of the crewmen, Chaves, was as big and muscular as each of his bodyguards, and Brown had a pistol. They'd be able to overpower two of his men easily. And while Dollar could have a pistol with him, none of his bodyguards were armed. When it came right down to it, Dollar did not trust his bodyguards to have guns. They were dumber than rocks, and Dollar preferred to be the one in charge when it came to guns. So, his only choice was just to move along with the group.

In an effort to gather patience, Dollar recalled that even if his plan didn't work out, they'd already have a profit, thanks to his association with Denham. Denham's idea of unveiling Skull Island in the Royal Hall, through Darrow's speech and Denham's movie was pure brilliance. Dollar would get forty percent of the profits, and if sessions of the movie and Darrow's speech followed that first one, Dollar's profit would be huge.

But if Denham's movie was a failure, those sessions would turn out as limited, which meant Dollar's original plan to get profit out of Skull Island would be the most successful after all – if the guess Dollar had based it on was true.

Dollar had labored most of his life to rise above the station of his worthless slattern of a mother and his ignorant coal miner of a father. One of the methods he'd used to get even wealthier was looking for every lost treasure rumoured to exist. While it was true most of the rumours he followed were gibberish, sometimes Dollar lucked out and found a real treasure.

And if this particular rumour turned out to be true, the treasure he'd find here would be twice bigger than the other three he'd already found put together. This treasure had supposedly been hidden somewhere in this island, about a century and a half ago, by Captain Jack Sparrow, an 18th Century pirate. Dollar had first discovered a clue to it two years before, when he'd bought Jack Sparrow's notes on an auction of rare objects, but it had only been when Darrow came to him with Valdemar Martins' diary that Dollar had decided to look for it. Valdemar's and Sparrow's descriptions of the islands where each of them had been were too similar to be a coincidence. Although looking for the treasure in this landmass was like looking for a needle in a haystack, Dollar figured it was worth the effort.

But he had to do it carefully, if he wanted to keep as much of the treasure for himself as he could. How exactly, Dollar had no idea, now that Englehorn had managed to ruin his original plan by wanting to leave Skull Island as soon as possible.

But he would find out some sort of solution for that problem, no matter what it took.

* * *

Jack Driscoll stood with his hands in his pockets, scrutinizing his surroundings while he waited for Carl to finish capturing the people crossing the bridge. Fortunately, this part of the island seemed ordinary, as far as uncharted islands went. Although the tunnel and the skulls inside it had given him the creeps, the side of the cliff from where they had come, in spite of towering 150 feet above him, dark and imposing, were like those everywhere else on the world, except that the birds flying overhead were bigger than any seabird he'd ever seen.

Jack's stomach squirmed inside him as he looked at those birds. Those nasty-looking beaks appeared capable of pecking off a human eye or finger, if not a hand or foot. More than once, a particularly curious bird had descended until it was only ten feet above the humans crossing the bridge – close enough to make people uncomfortable.

Still, those birds should be no more than toys compared to the real monsters of Skull Island. At least, assuming from the other things he'd managed to work out from Kelly's map during the night.

_Stop. _Jack commanded himself. _You can't start those thoughts. If you do, you'll lose your focus on your important task._

'Important' was a weak word, as far as Jack was concerned. 'Crucial' would be the right one for the task he had at hand. The task of making sure that Ann Darrow stayed safe was paramount.

So far, she didn't appear particularly nervous as she stood to his right while she kept an eye on her uncle Leonard, but she would grasp his hand occasionally, as though trying to draw strength from him. Because of that, Jack fought to keep his outward demeanor calm.

Leonard, however, wasn't nervous at all. If anything, he was brimming with almost childish excitement, taking frantic notes about this side of the gorge, where the walls had been carved to look like the fronts of buildings, with holes that had once been doors and windows. He'd even been about to go inside the buildings at one point, but Ann had managed to keep him outside, telling him that judging from the stench of rotten meat and half-digested fish that came from there, the air inside could be dangerous. Also, some of those nasty-looking seabirds had their nests there, and they could attack Leonard if he went in. Jack had decided to add another argument, saying that although those buildings had been standing for thousands of years, one never knew when they were going to fall. Leonard had glared at him when he said that, but he didn't make any comment, and just went back to taking whatever note he could, looking nothing else but dejected at the fact he couldn't take notes about one of the many parts of the island.

The sight made Jack wonder just how much Leonard knew about the island. Jack himself already knew more than he wanted, for sure. After spending the night reading the map instead of sleeping, he now knew that the other twelve members of Kelly's group had died there. That by itself wouldn't be so disturbing if he remembered he already knew about at least ten deaths just from reading three sentences before the ship had come through the fog. The real deal of the matter was that Jack now had a much more accurate idea of how those men had died – and the thought was enough to send his stomach churning more than it did in the worst crisis of seasickness he ever had.

_Stop!_ Jack again commanded himself, gritting his teeth as though gathering strength to push those thoughts down. _Stay calm! For Ann! Don't think about that_. But that was easier said than done.

Jack was brought out of his thoughts when Ann nudged his side. He looked on her direction, and she pointed toward Chester, who had his arm lifted as though he'd been trying to call their attention. And Jack saw why. Everyone had finally walked across the wooden bridge, and Carl appeared to only want a shot of the other side of the cliff without anyone in the way before he was ready to keep moving. After he finished, Carl gestured for Preston to put the camera and the tripod over his shoulder, and then lead the way into the crack that lead deeper into the peninsula, Dollar and the brutish bodyguards following right behind. Leonard went after them, and Jack followed, Ann and the rest of the group coming behind him.

Now, they walked through a tunnel about seventy-five feet high. Different from the one that came from the beach, this one was shaped like a tall, thin, crude pointed arch, and the stairway inside it not only started at the entrance but went all the way through the tunnel's width of twelve feet. At least, this one didn't give the impression to be walking into a monster's throat. But like its counterpart that came from the shore, the main stench here was that of rotting meat, and the main sound was the scurrying of the rats, although here it was almost drowned out by the sound of their own steps.

The tunnel's wall was irregular, creating more shadowy spots in certain areas, making them look like the kind of place from where anything could pop out. With Kelly's detailed descriptions of horrid deaths working on his head, it was all too easy for Jack to imagine some terrible monster extending his arms out of its lair to drag passers-by inside and chew them alive, the sound of the crushing of bones and dripping of blood echoing through the gorge.

The mere idea made a spurt of acid run through Jack's stomach, to the point where only a supreme amount of self control stopped him from heaving. If not for his supreme declaration of keeping cool for Ann's sake, he'd have faltered. Even with that promise stamped on his mind, it wasn't easy for Jack to keep his promise to himself, when the sentences he'd managed to work out during the night were running over and over in his brain.

Another thing that didn't make it easy was the skulls that lay through the stairway as though an absent-minded child had left them there. Like it had happened on the tunnel, there were the untouched ones, the gashed ones, and the partially smashed ones. But whatever the kind, they all gave the visitors a dark, empty stare that made Jack feel as though the temperature was much lower than it actually was.

Even worse was the fact that there were only skulls – no bones from any other part of human bodies. But why, Jack wasn't sure. Still, he doubted they were scraps of the meal of some horrid creature, even with Kelly's sentences and the dark spots of the tunnel fuelling his thoughts. Considering how the skulls had been organized back in the other tunnel, it seemed unlikely they were leftovers of an animal's meals. And although most of the ones here were unorganized, there were some which were placed perfectly straight. Like those on the tunnel, the ones here had, at least at some point, been intentionally placed by whoever had lived here.

_But just what kind of people lived here? _he wondered.

Jack didn't know the answer, but there was one thing he knew. If they were people who had such macabre decoration, he didn't want to meet them.

A sudden grasp on his right hand pulled Jack away from those thoughts. For a moment, his heart gave a jump, and he immediately looked on the grasped hand's direction, almost fearing to see a sinister claw wrapped around it. But instead, it was Ann's hand which was holding it. Apparently, she needed another dose of reassurance.

Her touch renewing his determination, Jack held Ann's hand tighter, trying to transmit all the reassurance he could through his touch. But for some reason, it was his own reassurance that increased, as though Ann's touch was relaxing for him in the same way his' was for her.

In an attempt to distract Ann from whatever was going through her mind as well as helping him expend the reservoir of nervous energy that had been building since they had left the Venture, Jack decided to start up a conversation.

"Well, what do you think of Skull Island so far?"

Ann was quiet for a few moments before she answered.

"I can't say I've ever seen anything else like it before."

Jack gave Ann a half smile, if only to try to encourage her to smile back. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

Jack didn't know if it had been because of the irony in his question or the half smile he gave, but Ann finally gave him a smile.

"I guess that depends on your point of view." she said. "If you look at my uncle, for example, he clearly thinks it's great."

Jack gave a brief look at Leonard Darrow. Even as they moved up that path, the old man was looking frantically from one place to the other, as though there was too much for his eyes to take in and he still wanted to absorb the whole of the landscape. Not a flicker of fear or unease passed through his eyes – rather, he seemed to be having the time of his life.

"Your uncle should watch where he puts his feet, or he'll trip." Jack said.

That was true. Leonard was paying so much attention to the island that he was giving none to the actual path he walking.

Immediately spurted into action, Ann ran forward to catch up with her uncle, surpassing several people on the line, and dragging Jack behind her with surprising ease, clearly determined to be available to catch her uncle if he fell.

_For someone so lithe, she's definitely strong. _Jack thought, slightly amazed.

However, soon both Ann and Jack were the ones who nearly needed to be caught, because Leonard suddenly stopped, almost making them run into him. But Jack managed to stop himself and Ann before anyone could fall down. As he looked up, he realized what had made Leonard to stop.

Leonard had stopped because Carl, the one in front of the line, had stopped as well, which had caused a reverse domino effect through the line of people. Carl had stopped because he had finally arrived to the top of the pathway, and judging from his overall stance, he was contemplating something with an ecstatic look.

That idea was further confirmed when Carl snatched the camera and the tripod from Preston's grip, and set it up as quickly as he could, before starting to turn the crank. For a moment, Jack wondered if he'd crank like mad, but somehow, Carl managed to keep himself under enough control to turn the crank at the critical speed of three turns per second.

In the meantime, Leonard had caught up with Carl, and was also contemplating whatever view presented those who got to the top of that path.

Curious about could be so worthy of watching, Jack moved to the top of that path, with Ann right behind him, although now they weren't holding hands.

When Jack got to his destination, he finally saw what Carl and Leonard seemed so focused on contemplating.

After the path they had gone through, there was a slight slope, and then, beyond that slope, was something that looked like a burial ground. Stone mausoleums were scattered through a valley, some of them smashed, others reduced to rubble, but most of them quite untouched. Some of them had what looked like crude bamboo scaffolds over them, but all of them had stakes sticking out of their roofs, most of them skeletons stuck on them. One or two of those skeletons had strings between their bones like cobwebs, but Jack couldn't say if they were actual strings or if they were the tattered remnants of flesh and skin.

The mausoleums had strange coffins propped against them, which looked like open mouths with sharp teeth. Partly decomposed bodies came out of them, looking like they'd been submitted to some treatment to be preserved, but one that was starting to wear off.

But even before Jack could totally take in the burial ground, the sight of what was beyond the valley caught his attention.

A huge wall rose from the ground, extending toward both sides as far as eye could see. Now that he saw it at close up, Jack realized the wall's jagged appearance was indeed because of the spikes that stuck all over the top – except on the central part, right above a huge gate, which had two holes on the top shaped like two eyes narrowed in an angry, cold stare. Joining those things right over the gate on the wall that looked like two horns, it looked as if the devil itself was looking at them. On each side of the gate there was a row of stairs leading to the top.

A movement to his right caused Jack's attention to be caught, but much to his relief, it was only Ann who had given a step forward, as if to get a closer look at the village and the wall. Her look was again apprehensive, but she also appeared determined to move forward when the time came.

"I bet you've never seen anything like that before either." Jack commented.

Again, Jack took his hand to his mouth.

_Damn you, Jack Driscoll, it's your nose that is supposed to be big, not your mouth!_ He scolded himself.

This time, Ann didn't take any time to reply. "No, I haven't."

Jack noticed her voice was calm, but it didn't appear a natural kind of calm. It was clear that she, just like him, was trying to force herself to be calm.

"Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"From my point of view?" Ann asked. "I don't know about you, but parts of the human body are hardly the ideal object of decoration for me."

"No arguing with that."

Then, any further conversation was halted, as Carl had finished shooting, and started heading deeper into the village, followed by his crew and Leonard. Again, Jack and Ann entwined their hands, as they headed further into the unknown.

* * *

Moving along with the group down the pathway that lead into this peculiar burial ground, Chester just couldn't help to be ever more uneasy about being in this place. He didn't know what scared him the most – if it were the skeletons scattered around like decoration, the mausoleums with skeletons stuck all over them, the mouth-like tombs with skeletons falling from inside them, the huge wall behind which Kong was, or if the fact the place simply reeked to death.

The feeling of abandonment all over the area reminded him of the ghost towns seen in the Western movies. But those ghost towns weren't supposed to have skeletons all over them.

Worse than all of that, however, was the idea that they were being watched. He couldn't help it, but the more he walked through this weird village, the more he had the feeling this supposedly deserted village was not so deserted after all, and the more he was scared that something would pounce on him while he was distracted and rip out his throat.

In spite of his fears, however, no one was attacked, and he got to the other side of the village unhurt, getting right in front of the gate. Denham and his cameraman set the tripod down and got the camera ready, while Preston and Mike looked around.

As Denham started cranking, Chester kept looking at the gate. The thing was absolutely huge, and at least three feet thick. Besides the holes that appeared to be 'the eyes', there were also a few other holes, clearly result of the deterioration caused by time, crudely patched up with bamboo. Even with those minor holes though, the gate was clearly so big that sheer size had managed to keep it almost intact, in spite of the centuries it should have.

_Well, the gate had to be tough, to keep something like Kong out. _Chester thought.

But was it, really? Had this wall really been built to keep Kong – whatever Kong was – out? Because if the idea of the huge wall was keeping a huge beast out, why would the wall need a huge gate? Better yet, if it was to keep the monster out, why would the wall need a gate at all?

The only conclusion was that the wall had nothing to do with the monster, and it was merely because it was something all the huge cities had – Troy, for example. The problem was this was only a burial ground, similar in nothing to cities like Troy, or Alexandria, or Rome, or anything in that vein. The only similarity was the level of civilization of those who built it. As he kept looking at the gate, Chester wondered if the heart of the supposed civilization was in fact beyond the wall.

_But that's meant to be the side of the wall where Kong is! Why – or how, for that matter – would someone build a big town there?_

Close by, Preston and Mike kept pacing around and around.

"It's deserted…" Preston said as he looked around the village, sounding mostly as if he was trying to convince himself.

"Of course it's deserted." Denham said. "Use your eyes Preston. The place is a ruin. Nobody's lived here for hundreds of years."

Having lost the mood of standing around, Chester resumed his moving through the village, catching sight of Jack and Ann, who were following Leonard Darrow around like a shadow, while the old man wrote notes down on a notepad as if his life depended on it.

"Remarkable…" Chester heard him saying to himself as he went close to Jack and Ann. "unbelievable… incredible…"

"Looks like someone's having a good time." Chester remarked as he came close to Jack and Ann.

"You can say that again." Jack agreed.

"But what else can you expect?" Ann added. "Finding a place like this has been his dream ever since he's become an archaeologist."

"He's wanted to find a crude village of stone with skeletons all over and skulls used for decoration since he became an archaeologist?" Chester said. "Well, it's unusual, to say the least."

His brief attempt at humor appeared to make both Jack and Ann drop their unease somewhat.

"No, Chester." Ann said. "What he's wanted to find an undiscovered place. And if said place it's a deserted village full of skeletons, I guess that it suits him as fine as anything else."

Chester was about to roll his eyes, when something beyond Leonard caught his eye – and brought a serious look to his face.

"Actually, I'm not so sure this village is deserted."

Even as he spoke, he moved over to what had caught his attention. Several spears running through skeletons of fish had been left leaning against one of the crude buildings. And some of those fish skeletons had a look Chester found highly suspicious – and displeasing.

Ann and Jack came over to him.

"What is that, Chester?" Jack asked.

"Fish skeletons." Chester replied as he held up one of the spears for Jack and Ann to see.

"And what's so special about them?" Jack asked, not having yet noticed anything.

Ann, however, appeared to have noticed the same thing Chester had, for her eyes bugged out slightly, a nervous look coming onto them.

Chester's features appeared to be carved out of stone as he got himself ready to answer. Before he could speak, though, Ann beat him to it, "They're fresh, Jack."

Jack held the spear on his own hands, looking more closely at the fish. It was clear for Chester that only now he had noticed the bits of meat still clinging to the skeleton, dry, but still somewhat fleshy.

Jack looked up at Chester, his eyes filled with fear.

"The village is inhabited." Chester replied grimly.

And then, as if to prove his point, the cries of a human child echoed through the village Chester had shortly before assumed to be abandoned.

* * *

Carl Denham's hand froze on the crank before he completed one of the turns. For a moment after he'd heard those cries, which sounded too much like the cries of a human child to his likes, he had thought he'd been dreaming, or that he'd somehow caught too much sun, but after all he was wearing a straw hat, the sun wasn't supposed to have that much of an effect on him. Besides, the sun wasn't that intense, with a layer of grey clouds quickly gathering on the sky.

Letting go of the camera's crank, Carl turned to Preston.

"Did you hear it?"

Preston nodded, looking close to scared after the sound he'd just heard. But Preston wasn't wearing a hat, perhaps he had been affected by the heat.

In an attempt to further consolidate the evidence, he turned to Herb and Mike.

"Did you hear it?"

Both Herb and Mike nodded, understanding what he meant.

Four people having the same hallucination was too much. Something had made that sound, and although it almost certainly hadn't been a genuine human child crying, he had to find what made the sound – it would almost certainly make a nice addition to his film.

But right as he started moving, he caught sight of a rather scared Alexandra May hugging Bruce Baxter, and the actor was hugging his leading lady back, clearly also uneasy. Carl snapped his fingers once to Herb, and then pointed to Alexandra and Bruce. The camera was right by his side, and he wanted Herb to film the two of them before they recovered from the scare. It would almost certainly look nice at some point of the film. Sure, there was no similar scene on the script yet, but Carl was certain Jack would find new material and adapt it to the scenes Carl would shoot.

As Herb moved forward to carry out his order, Carl started moving back into the village, ready to find the source of the sound he'd just heard. But just as he got back into the maze made by those crude buildings, the cries quieted down, and an eerie calm settled into the village.

Carl looked around, anxiousness spreading through every fiber of his being. He was alone in the middle of this abandoned place, and worse, there was the idea this place perhaps wasn't so abandoned anymore. For some reason, now that he was all alone in the middle of these buildings, he had a feeling that someone was watching him.

An unexplainable chill coming from his right made Carl turned his head toward that direction. And once he did, he couldn't believe what his eyes saw.

* * *

_Well, here it is. A cliffhanger for all of you. Sorry for it, but I find them a good way of keeping the readers' interest for the chapters to come. If you found the minor crossover point with Pirates of the Caribbean, congratulations. If you didn't... well, no problem. _

_I hope you've all enjoyed this chapter. And I also hope you take the time to leave me a review.  
_


	21. Chapter 21: Seeing more than enough

_Hello again to all of you, my dear readers. I am very sorry for yet again taking so much time in updating another chapter. I hope there are still a few reviewers left after all the time that passed._

_This chapter has the story's first action scene, although it is a rather minor one. Nevertheless, I hope you all enjoy it._

_Now that this is over, let's begin._

_

* * *

_

**Chapter 21 – Seeing more than enough**

Standing no more than thirty or forty feet away from Carl, gazing right into him, was a girl. She had appeared there so silently that it seemed she had materialized like a ghost.

The mere thought of ghosts was enough to make a shiver creep up Carl's spine. And looking at the girl didn't ease him in the slightest. While she appeared solid, she looked like no human being Carl had ever seen. Her dirt-smudged skin and unkempt hair were pitch black, as if the girl had been carved out of darkness itself. Although thin and obviously underfed, she stood as straight, strong, and alert as a cornered fox, ready to attack at the first chance. Some sort of garment patched out of human hair with shark teeth and pieces of bone thrown into the mix covered her torso, and a matching skirt was around her waist. Two sandals made out of some unidentifiable material were strapped to her feet.

But out of all the unusual things about this girl, the one that truly gave him the creeps was the look in her bloodshot eyes. They were feral, soulless, and distinctly inhuman. Those same eyes swept over the area behind Carl, before locking back on the movie producer.

For a moment, Carl quavered with unease, but then, the only thing he felt was a thrill, and he smiled in triumph. This girl was just another incredible thing for him to capture with his camera, and later show to audiences throughout the world.

Looking at them with her fierce and at the same time dead eyes, the girl lifted her right arm in a mechanical gesture, uncurling her fingers for a moment, before letting them drop again. Hopefully, Herb was behind him right now, getting that shot.

"Mr. Denham, I think we should go back…" a voice whispered in his ear.

Carl glanced behind him, although he didn't really need to do so in order to know that Alexandra May had been the one who had spoken. Bruce Baxter was a few steps behind her, and only ten feet away was the rest of those who had come ashore. Thank God, Herb had the camera set up, and looked like he had been filming for some time.

But all the others, just like his leading lady, appeared quite nervous, although no one besides her appeared to want to go back. Perhaps he'd do well in trying to get some contact with the girl.

"I will handle this." he said.

Sure, the girl looked creepy, but the girl's attitude was bound to be due to nothing more than hunger. If he gave her something to eat, she would see they were trying to be her friends, and hopefully, they'd get her to act for the camera in exchange for more food.

Carl made a gesture to Herb, signalling him to stop cranking. Even though Carl had brought quite a lot of film stock, he didn't want to waste it. Who knows how many wonders there were on Skull Island just waiting to be captured by his camera. Herb stopped filming, but Carl knew the cameraman was ready to begin again if something exciting happened.

But first, Carl had to get close to the girl.

Carl reached inside of his jacket, and then produced a chocolate candy bar which he'd started eating the previous night. He'd planned in having the rest of it for himself, but he was willing to sacrifice the candy for the sake of a good shot.

"Look, chocolate!" Carl said as he walked to the girl with small, cautious steps. "You like chocolate?"

The girl didn't react. Instead, she just kept staring at Carl with the same eyes that were starting to give him the chills, as though she was trying to drive him away with her gaze only. However, Carl managed to keep his fear to a minimum. He was here to make his movie, and he wasn't going to let a little girl deter him even if she had rabies.

"It's good to eat."

The girl remained as unresponsive as a door.

"Carl!" Jack said from behind. From his tone, it was clear Jack thought Carl was being too careless.

But Carl didn't give a damn about what Jack thought. He was going to get this girl to cooperate for his movie even if he had to stuff the chocolate down her throat.

A rain shower began suddenly, but Carl ignored it. The rain wasn't all that strong, and it wasn't accompanied by wind. If Herb just put a piece of tarp over the camera while cranking, and took care to aim it at the right angle, they could still get a good shot.

"Do you want it?" he insisted, now right in front of the little girl's extended arm. "Take it."

The girl still didn't react. She just gave him that creepy stare. Carl's chills slowly increased, although that could be due both to the girl's stare and to the fact his clothes, ever wetter because of the rain that increased in intensity, were starting to cling to him.

Either way, Carl was just through with this girl's lack of response.

"Here, put it in your hand and take it." he said, grabbing the girl's hand and trying to wrap it around the chocolate.

Finally, the girl reacted, but it wasn't the reaction Carl had expected by any means. She gave a brief growl, showing unnaturally sharp teeth, and then grabbed onto Carl's arms, pulling away with surprising strength.

Carl didn't know what her idea was, but he already knew that his idea of trying to get her to cooperate by giving her treats was not working as well as he had expected it to.

"For God's sakes, Denham, leave the native alone!" Bruce Baxter shouted from behind him.

"She doesn't want the chocolate." Jack insisted.

Right now, there was nothing Carl wanted more than to let the little girl go, but for some reason he just didn't seem capable of disentangling himself from her. It was as if she was both trying to get free and trying to pull him toward herself at the same time.

All of a sudden, the little girl quit pulling, and bit down onto Carl's hand, digging her teeth so deeply that blood surged out over his fingers and wrist.

Carl shouted in pain, and finally, the girl let go of him and scrambled toward one of the mausoleums. It was almost as if her goal had been to taste his blood. After letting out a curse, Carl ran after her, anger bursting through him. Little girl or not, nobody bit him 'till he bled and got away with it.

Carl ran to the entrance of the mausoleum inside which the girl had gone, but as soon as he got there, the little girl reappeared at the entrance – and now she wasn't alone.

An absolutely hideous old woman materialized out of the shadows inside the mausoleum. She clasped skeletal fingers with claw-like nails around the little girl's shoulders and pulled the awful child to herself in a protective gesture. Carl managed to take in a pair of bloodshot feral eyes before the woman hissed like a scared cat, showing teeth so sharp they would have made a wolf envious. Startled by the unexpected event, Carl stopped, but his momentum and the slippery stone ground nearly made him fall on his backside.

Barely managing to stabilize himself on the ever more unstable rock, Carl tried to slow down the frantic beating of his heart, while he gave a better look at the repulsive hag in front of him. Like the little girl, she had pitch-black skin, but her hair was stark white, and every millimeter of her face was covered in wrinkles. She wore a garment made out of long hair around her shoulders, a matching one around her hips, and a necklace of bones. All in all, this withered crone looked even creepier than the girl she clung to, so much so that she'd make a witch look a knockout.

The old woman bared her teeth, and snarled at him like a dog. Carl gave a few steps backward, not wanting the witch look-alike to lash out at him. He spread out his arms, both to hit the crone if she attacked and to stabilize himself in case the ground turned out to be even more slippery than it seemed. The woman stayed put, but she kept giving him that feral gaze that made his stomach churn over and over again.

Then, as though they had melted out of the shadow, more of those creepy people stuck their heads from inside the ruined mausoleums, distinguishable more because of their eyes and garments than anything else. Carl saw several women, children, and old people peeking at him, all of them giving him the same scared, but at the same time defensive, look. They looked as wild and primitive as the tombs they took shelter in: some had their noses or ears pierced by pieces of bone, others had ritual scars over them in a decorative pattern, and there even were a few who appeared to have missing limbs. But, whatever the weird decoration they used or the limbs they lacked, all of them were clad in the same type of garments made of hair, feather, leaves, and bone, and all of them had the same strange, scared and at the same time wild look on their faces.

For the first time since he'd set foot on Skull Island, Carl Denham couldn't help but to wonder what exactly they had gotten themselves into.

* * *

Standing about thirty feet away from Denham, Ann Darrow gripped Jack Driscoll's hand even tighter, unease rising through her at every moment. The ever increasing number of natives appearing from inside the mausoleums gave her the chills. Not so much the number in itself, but their looks. Ann had seen several tribes many would describe as primitive, such as African Masai, Amazonian Indians, and Australian Aborigines. But never had she seen people with such a feral look on their faces, as though they had let go of humanity itself for the sake of survival. Judging from how Valdemar had described the island as hellish in his diary, the fact didn't surprise her all that much. But it certainly scared her, just like this people did. And none of them scared her the most than the old woman clinging onto the girl's shoulders.

But even scarier than all those things was the fact that, even though she had first fixated on Carl, Ann could see the skeletal hag was now staring at her.

Things just couldn't get any worse now. They had just discovered Skull Island was not as deserted as it seemed, its inhabitants were so creepy a look from them would make the Devil freeze in fear, and on top of it all, it was raining. What else could happen now?

Resounding as loud as a trumpet in a silent theatre, Denham's voice got to her.

"It's alright. It's just a bunch of women, children, and old folks." he said. "They're harmless."

He was doing a fairly good job at sounding cool, but Ann could hear the slight quaver to his voice.

_Right. _Ann thought as Denham's words came to her. _And I'm Ginger Rogers._

In an effort to get some comfort, Ann gave a glance at Jack, and gripped his hand so tight she feared she would crush it. But Jack didn't complain. He just started rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand, giving at her an unexpectedly reassuring look. The frantic beating of her heart decreased, as though Jack's eyes had some sort of magic capable of making it calm down.

From beyond him, Ann managed to glimpse her uncle. He was no longer taking frantic notes. Instead, he gave the natives the same look of unease that every other person there gave. Apparently, even he had been brought out of his rush to analyze every inch of Skull Island by these creepy people. It was only a pity that it took so much for that to happen.

A noise coming from behind her caught her attention. It sounded like a ball being punctured. She turned toward the noise – right in time to see Mike falling to his knees, a blank look on his eyes, and a surprised expression frozen on his features.

A crude spear stuck out of his chest. It was stained red. A crimson bloom crept through the sound recordist's clothes radiating from the injury made by the sharpened stick. Mike's knees hit the ground with a dull thud, and then, he fell on his side, his glasses shaking, and his cap falling off. Thin streams of blood flowed from his clothes into the stone ground, before being dissolved by the rain.

This sight was the drop that made the cup to overflow. Fuelled by everything she had ever seen from the moment she first set eyes on Skull Island, a scream forced its way from deep inside her being, coming out of her wide-open mouth, ripping through the air and her throat, spreading through the whole burial ground.

Everyone turned to her as if she was a beacon, but Ann didn't matter, drowned in the waves of horror pulsing through her shaking body.

Then, as the last echoes of her scream faded around the terrifying place, something that no one there had been expecting happened.

Someone screamed back.

No. It wasn't someone. Even in her horrified condition, Ann easily realized it. The sound came from nothing she had ever set her eyes on. This sound, a strange mix of roar and scream, had a deep, explosive quality to it, one that she couldn't compare to the noise made by any other creature she knew to exist on Earth. It came from beyond the wall, but it made Ann as powerless as id the one who made it was standing right there.

For a moment, everyone froze, paralyzed by the roar, as powerful as a lightning strike. Only the old woman had some sort of reaction to the scream, although she looked as terrified and surprised as the rest of them.

"_Torê Kong_." she said, panic evident in her tone. Then, she to Ann, and locked her eyes on her, repeating in an angry, accusing tone, "_Torê Kong_!"

In an effort not to meet the witch's gaze, Ann turned around, wanting her eyes as far away from the old hag's stare as she could. When she finished spinning, though, she met a far worse sight.

Three native men were standing behind her, their black eyes boring into her. They all were muscular, and were all clad in loincloths made of hair. Some held crude spears fashioned from sharpened pieces of wood, while others held clubs that had their ends studded with either shark teeth or chunks of rock. But all of them had their noses and ears pierced with pieces of bone to such an extend that, added to the beastly look in their eyes, they looked more demons than humans.

Ann tried to turn around again, but even before she'd given a quarter of a turn, she saw another of the men, standing only two feet away from her, looking her right in the eyes.

And then hell broke loose.

As if they'd erupted from the ground, a wave of native men rushed out, engulfing the island's invaders with a force impossible to withstand. Even before Ann had time to think, two of them grabbed her arms, holding her in viselike grips. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw two more immobilizing Alexandra May – and all the others going for the remaining members.

The members of the filming party tried to fight back, but not only were they outnumbered, they were also unarmed. Ann could see Chester, Chaves, Herb, and some others punching at the native warriors, but for each that was knocked down there were at least two to replace him. For a moment, the memory that Chester had a pistol broke through her panic, but even if he got it out, it wasn't that much of a match against at least a hundred Skull Islanders. Even Dollar's giants appeared to be having some trouble against the native warriors.

Suddenly, Ann's left arm was released from the native's grip. Looking up in surprise, Ann saw Jack standing there, still with his arm lifted and his fist clenched, a look of fury on his face. Jack punched the other native squarely in the nose, and Ann heard it break. The warrior fell backwards as drops of blood and pieces of smashed decorative bone flew from his face.

Jack pulled Ann to himself, trying to offer whatever protection he could. His eyes seemed to shout at the natives, '_You want her? Come and get me._'.

The native men going at them went still for a moment, clearly surprised by the fierceness in Jack's eyes. It was long enough for Ann to see three other natives dragging one of the sailors, Roger Aldous, toward a stone. A fourth native stood there, a club studded with chunks of rock at the ready.

Ann knew what was going to happen.

She looked away, hoping not to see the man's end, even as part of her felt revolted at not having the bravery to look. Her eyes caught Dollar's men, each of them flinging natives away like feathers. But each native hit got up right after, like a cat with nine lives. Behind one of Dollar's giants – if Ann remembered it right, his name was Philip – one of the natives produced a dagger of bone, and, after raising his arm to the right height, stuck it neatly through the giant's ribs, straight into his heart. The man's eyes went blank, and he fell like an empty sack. The dagger's blade broke inside Philip's body, but the native who held the now-useless handle simply threw it aside and jumped up, a cheerful look on his face, as though he'd just scored a point at some innocent game. Ann's stomach twisted and churned as waves of acid built up in it.

Meanwhile, more natives came to rip Jack from her, and again she found herself restrained by two. Through the gaps between the fighting men, she saw that poor Aldous, who by now was screaming at the top of his lungs, had been forced to his knees, his head on the stone. The native holding the club raised it high – and then brought it down so fast that it was a blur. Aldous' head was smashed like an egg. Blood, bone, and brain flew in every direction. Like the native that had killed Philip, this one cheered raggedly at his deed, followed by his companions.

Ann would have doubled over and vomited – but the natives holding her arms didn't let her do so.

"_Larri Kong._" a voice suddenly started chanting through the screams. "_Larri yu sano korê._"

Ann froze. She recognized the voice, far too well in fact.

But, as though the natives didn't want to leave her in the doubt, they parted, revealing the old hag from before walking toward her, the creepy little girl from before following her like a shadow. The natives appeared to treat her with respect – clearly, she was the highest authority among them.

"_Kweh norê kah' ad-larr._" the old sha-woman said in an accusing tone, continuing her slow walk toward Ann.

"Ann!" Jack shouted, again breaking free of the natives that held him.

He tried to run toward her, but all of a sudden, one of the men produced a club, and hit Jack in the back of his head with it. Jack went rigid, and his eyes slowly closed. His eyelids quivered for a moment, he lifted his arm briefly as though trying to reach out to Ann, and then he dropped like a stone.

Again unable to repress herself, Ann opened her mouth, and let out a scream from the very depths of her being. Her throat nearly ripped itself open, but she couldn't handle it.

Only when she finished screaming, and everyone in the burial ground held their breath, did she realize her mistake.

Again, from behind the wall, the unknown beast from before replied to her scream with its deep, booming roar.

When the roar went silent, the natives appeared to frenzy even more – while the sha-woman kept her chanting.

"_Kweh yonê kah'weh ad-larr._" she carried on. "_Torê Kong._"

Those two words again. The same ones the old hag had voiced after the first roar.

In spite of her fear, Ann made the association: those two words had something to do with the beast that had replied to her screams. They thought she had summoned it. So they were going to make her pay.

_Just get over with it!_ it was all Ann could think, the old woman's gaze making her heart pump horror through her. _I'll give you anything – just don't make me look into those horrible eyes of yours again!_

"_Larri yu sano korê._" she repeated. "_Torê Kong._"

Ann was vaguely aware of other people screaming around her. Carl Denham, in particular, screamed like Roger Aldous had shortly before. She knew without having to look that it was going to be Denham's turn now. She could almost sense the executioner raising his club.

The old woman hissed.

Then, cutting through the shouts, the hysterical cheering, and the sound of fists hitting their targets, came another sound.

A gunshot.

The native who had been about to smash Denham's head was blown off his feet, his chest run through by a high-caliber bullet. Everyone froze, like in a picture, taken aback by the unexpected turn of events.

A second gunshot resounded. Another native fell dead.

Four more shots followed in quick succession. Four more natives fell onto the hard-packed rock, the fire in their eyes extinct, pools of blood growing under their dead bodies.

Then, at long last, the natives stopped their attack, and fled as fast as their legs could carry them, right as Englehorn and Kendra, both of them carrying Gewehr 98 bolt-action rifles, charged into the village, followed by Hayes, Steve, and ten more sailors. Each of the new arrivals was holding a gun equal to the ones the Captain and his wife had.

Kendra looked around and noticed Ann, who had fallen to the ground, unable to repress the sobs coming from her throat.

"Ann." Kendra whispered as she ran to her friend and dropped to one knee by her side. "Are you alright?"

Ann couldn't bring herself to answer the question. It was as if her brain couldn't process the question.

She was vaguely aware of Steve rushing over to Chester, of Dollar and his three remaining bodyguards straightening themselves, and of her uncle standing with a hand over his chest.

Neves passed by the two of them, his wet coat flapping behind him. Against her will, Ann turned her head to follow him with her eyes. Less than five feet away from her, Neves dropped to one knee by the side of a body, holding his rifle with one hand.

"Mr. Driscoll." he called, shaking the fallen playwright with his free hand, getting no response from him.

Ann looked away, feeling as if her heart had been knifed open. This was all her fault. She had decided to come ashore. She had let Jack come along. She had been helpless in the hands of the natives, and in turn forced Jack to defend her. That was what lead him to be where he was, laying on cold rock.

_It's all your fault. _a voice whispered on the back of her head like a litany. _It's all your fault. _

_

* * *

_

His hair plastered with blood, Carl Denham lifted his head from the muddy ground. The mud and water around his head was stained with the blood of a sailor whose name he didn't know. He'd been about to have the same fate, but he'd been literally saved by a miracle.

Looking up, he saw that several other sailors had arrived – and surely enough, Englehorn was with them. It was the third time that the movie director owed his life to the captain.

As though the German had heard Carl thinking about him, he turned to the fallen movie director. His look didn't betray any emotion, but the man had stoicism capable of making anyone envious. For all Carl knew, Englehorn could just decide to aim his rifle at him and finish the job he'd stopped the natives from executing.

But all the German did was make a face at him, before asking,

"Seen enough?"

Still dazed by the fact he'd been about to get his head reduced to jelly, Carl didn't reply. And in the end, he simply didn't know the answer.

* * *

His wet hair plastered to his face, Thomas 'Dollar' Davison got up and straightened his wet clothes the best he could. He only saw three of his bodyguards getting up with him.

They knew what they had signed up for, and Dollar had paid them well for it. But life was a gamble, and it looked like Philip had lost his bet. The other three of Dollar's bodyguards stood huddled together looking at the red stain around Philip's back wound.

Giving a scornful grunt at the sight, Dollar turned his back on the dead bodyguard, and looked over the little battle scene. A bunch of damned dirty apes, these uncouth natives were.

Uncouth, perhaps, but they were wild for sure. If he managed to take some of the dead ones, perhaps he could stuff them and put them in his trophy room. After all, they were just a bunch of wild animals – displaying one of theses stuffed would be no different from displaying a monkey. Or then, he could capture a few alive and sell them to some zoo – perhaps they'd pay him for the chance of displaying people as wild as animals.

But that had never been his initial plan. His initial plan was to get Jack Sparrow's treasure. He was going to keep trying it, and for that, he needed to extend their stay at the island, and a chance to explore more of it.

And, based on something he'd seen during the struggle with the natives, he'd just had an idea to accomplish that.

* * *

_Well, like I said, that was meant to be the story's first action scene. I hope I did it well, but unfortunately, the means to portray good action scenes through writing are rather limited, just like my experience on the matter - so that isn't really much of a help. However, I hope my first attempt was good enough to satisfy you readers for some time._

_I hope I don't take so long to update the next chapter - but well... please make sure to review. I really value your comments, and they get me motivated to write faster. _


	22. Chapter 22: An unexpectedly longer stay

_Well, my dear readers, here I am, back to you with another chapter. I'm sorry that I took so long to finish it, but I hope you all enjoy it enough to decide that it was worth the wait._

_There's a bit of an emotionial scene in this chapter, I hope I did a good job with it._

_Now that this is over, let's begin._

* * *

**Chapter 22 – An unexpectedly longer stay**

Standing in the middle of frozen chaos, Captain Eric Englehorn surveyed one of the most dreadful death scenes he had ever laid eyes on. One of Dollar's bodyguards was sprawled lifelessly on the wet rock, a crimson bloom on the back of his shirt. Aldous' body lay next to a huge stone, his limbs twisted. Bits of bone and gore leaked out of a crack in the back of his head. Denham's sound recordist was slumped on his side with a spear sticking out of his torso. His glasses were hanging to one side and his eyes stared blankly into eternity. Close to Aldous, Carl Denham was leaning against a blood-stained stone, petrified.

Englehorn wasn't surprised. He had heard about Skull Island for years. Stories whispered by old sailors in bars at nearly every port he had visited. From the many descriptions he had heard, Englehorn had always known that this was a place no person in their right mind would visit willingly. But now that he had actually gotten to see the place with his own eyes, he realized those stories didn't measure up to the reality of it by far. With the skeletons stuck on sharpened sticks, and the partly-decomposed bodies that sprawled out of the mausoleums, Skull Island was a place ruled by the very essence of death.

Three of the people he was responsible for had died here today, killed by those six natives he and his wife had shot. Englehorn's eyes swept over the dark-skinned corpses. He barely believed they had been human; they had acted more like crazed devils. The cries and gasps of the living waded through his disgust. He felt damn fortunate so many of his crew and passengers were still alive, albeit badly shaken. But being alive could change at any time. Even if the rifles had initially driven the natives off, there was no way of telling how long the beasts would remain scared off. Sooner or later they would come back to avenge their comrades, and the captain had no intentions of being around when they did.

"Get moving, men!" Englehorn commanded. "Let's get out of here before those savages come back!"

Like a match to a barrel of gunpowder, his words were the catalyst that brought everyone into activity. Denham's assistant and Baxter were each grabbing one of Miss May's arms, literally flailing her behind them as they ran off. Denham's cameraman picked up the camera and tripod and limped after them. Englehorn's crewmen stampeded away after Denham's crew, followed by Dollar and his bodyguards. Hawksworth and Stewart, however, didn't follow the group. Instead, they rushed to Aldous' body.

"Leave the dead." Englehorn shouted. Stewart and Hawksworth stopped in their tracks and cast a quick glance at their fallen comrade. The two sailors looked at each other, and then turned on their heels and jogged toward the path that led to shore.

Englehorn couldn't repress the feeling of guilt at leaving one of his men to rot here. Even leaving the sound recordist and that brainless brute Dollar had brought with him didn't sit well with the Captain. But they had to get out of here as fast as possible, and any load they carried would slow them down.

Just as he thought that, Eric noticed that Kendra was moving at a snail's pace, while all the others were running. Her slow speed obviously came from dragging a petrified Miss Darrow, who still hadn't been able to bring herself to recover from whatever the natives had done to her.

_Or maybe not to her_, Eric thought as a suspicion came to his mind.

Scanning the area, Englehorn tried to find the playwright, Driscoll. It only took a few seconds to locate him; Driscoll was in Neves's hands. Neves tossed the playwright over his shoulders as if the man were a hunted impala.

"Neves!"

But the sailor did not hear. Neves ran off, bearing the dead playwright's body nearly as fast if he had not had a body draped across his shoulders.

_Damn_. Now there would be a hysterical scene to deal with. Well, there was no helping it now. Neves was already out of sight. Englehorn glanced around the deadly battleground once more, and finding that the only two living souls in the creepy place were himself and Hayes, Englehorn signaled his first mate, and then the two of them left.

They hadn't gone ten steps, when Englehorn saw a black figure lunging out of one of the mausoleums, straight at Miss Darrow and Kendra. Acting on instinct, Eric raised his gun and fired. By his side, Hayes did the same a split-second afterwards. And a second after that came a third shot. Kendra had also reacted to the figure in the same manner.

But not even the three gunshots could drown out the scream that tore from Miss Darrow's throat.

The scream had barely stopped, when another of those deep, explosive, earth-shaking roars he had heard two times before echoed through the whole village. Those who had already come ashore looked around like mad, as though they took that roar as a sign for the natives to come down on them. The ones who had guns drew them.

The rain continued to pour down. No one moved.

It seemed the great roaring also struck fear in the natives; they remained hidden.

Several paces off, the captain saw Kendra standing with her feet spread apart, arms extended, and her smoking rifle gripped in her hands. Less than three feet away from her laid one of those partly decomposed bodies. It was pierced in its belly, chest, and head after having been hit by all three gunshots.

But it hadn't been Kendra who screamed. It had been Miss Darrow. She was trembling like a leaf by Kendra's side. Englehorn sighed in relief at the realization. But his unease grew again when he saw Dollar standing right in front of Kendra and Miss Darrow. There was a victorious look in the man's eyes. Kendra was glaring at him.

Englehorn saw the man mouthing 'oops'. Dollar, however, looked far from apologetic.

Englehorn stared daggers at the tycoon. He was so angry, he felt could leave Dollar and Denham here so the natives would impale them, roast them over open flames, and then start eating them before they were even completely dead. But it was a Captain's priority to get his passengers to safety, no matter how annoying they were. Once they were back on the Venture, then Englehorn could beat Dollar and Denham to a pulp.

"Come on men!" he shouted, trying to get them back into action. "Move!"

In a flash, everyone resumed their run to the shoreline. But Kendra was still moving at a snail's speed, too busy with dragging Miss Darrow.

Englehorn cursed. He backtracked to the two women, and thrust one arm under Miss Darrow's knees and scooped her over his shoulder as if she was a sack of potatoes. Kendra gave him a quick, terse nod, and then strode ahead. Miss Darrow remained sill and limp draped as she was over the captain's shoulders.

Glancing behind, Englehorn again made sure that he was leaving no one. After his short assessment, he resumed his own way toward the shoreline, all the while hoping that everyone would be able to get off the island before those hellish natives decided to counterattack.

* * *

Ann lay on the bottom of the lifeboat curled into the fetal position, both her hands clenched over her heart. She was still shaking in terror from when one of those partly decomposed bodies had fallen out of its mausoleum directly toward her, like a zombie lunging out at her. It was as if the island itself had been trying to make a last effort to keep her there, determined to give her to whatever inconceivably terrifying monster had answered to her screams three times now.

And the searing pain she had felt when Jack hadn't stirred from Neves's call hadn't decreased. The crushing panic that had overcome her from the moment Jack had collapsed in front of her terrified eyes was still there. On top of all of that, the pure horror she had felt when staring into the feral gaze of that gristly witch kept pulsing through her over and over again. The feeling doubled whenever Ann recalled that the hideous hag intended to sacrifice her to some creature from the depths of hell.

Deep down herself, a part of Ann wished she would have succeeded. She knew that whatever destiny those barbarous, demoniac villagers had in mind for her would be anything but pleasant – but when it ended, it would end. And then, on the other side, she would be at peace. She would be with Jack for the rest of eternity, in a place where there was no suffering or pain, the place that Jack and everyone else had said her parents had gone to sixteen years ago.

But Ann didn't believe it. How could she ever be at peace? Ann was certain she would feel eternally guilty for having allowed this to happen to her Jack Driscoll.

But in spite of her mind being overcome by her horror, the memories of everything she and Jack had shared kept going through her mind. The welcome Jack had given to her when she and her parents moved to the United States. The way Jack had done everything he could to make her feel comfortable at her new school. Every single gift Jack had bought her for her birthday. All the amaryllises Jack had grown for her at Christmas. The way how Jack had thanked her for encouraging him to enter Mrs. Melville's writing contest.

And superimposed over all of that, the last thing Jack would ever do for her: trying to rescue her from those demons that looked like they had escaped from Hell itself. In a way, he had succeeded, but the price he'd paid for it was unbearably high.

Ann felt a hand on the back of her head. She jumped up at the contact, her mind instantly picturing some native that had managed to sneak onto the rowboat and was going to throw her overboard and swim with her back to Skull Island. But it was only her uncle. His white hair was plastered to his face from the heavy rain.

"Ann, my dear. Are you alright?"

Ann knew her uncle well enough to know that he was worried about her, that he was trying the best he could to comfort her, in spite of how shaken he had to be himself. After all, he had also come close to losing his life. But, as she looked up from the bottom of the rowboat, as her eyes met her uncle's concerned eyes, Ann felt a surge of fury come from the very depth of her being. Every bit of it was directed to the man that looked at her, the one that had taken care of her since her parents had died. The one who was guilty of all of this.

"This is all your fault." Ann said, barely audible over the pounding waves. "You sneaked out of the Venture after Englehorn told you not to do it. You dragged all of us with you. And now four men are dead."

Mike, run through by that masterfully thrown spear. Aldous, with his head brutally clubbed to a pulpy mass. Philip, knifed in the heart with deadly precision.

_And Jack. _The damned ugly voice on the back of her head reminded.

Tears of grief, pain, and fury spilled out of her eyes.

"Ann, my dear…" her uncle began, obviously disturbed by what she had just told him.

"Don't you ever dare to talk to me again." Ann growled, looking him dead in the eyes, doing her utter best to direct every bit of the fury that bubbled inside her at him. "I don't ever want to see or hear from you for as long as I live."

Her uncle looked down at the bottom of the rowboat. His face was contorted in pain from the words Ann had just thrown at him.

But, even as Ann directed her eyes into the choppy, dark-grey sea, she decided that whatever pain her uncle Leonard felt right now wouldn't be enough by far. It wouldn't come anywhere near the pain she felt now.

And she didn't want it to. That pain was hers to bear, and it would always be, until the end of her days.

And until that time arrived, it would also be the only thing that kept her going.

* * *

Doing her best to keep her balance on a sea that grew more violent with every passing moment, Kendra Englehorn took a place close to the edge of the uncharacteristically large rowboat, her rifle reloaded and pointed to the water. They were off Skull Island, and, much to everybody's relief, the gunfire had been sufficiently terrifying to the natives. They had not dared a counterstrike.

By now, they were far out of reach of any spear the natives could throw at them. Nevertheless, Kendra still felt some remnants of the earlier scare when that mummy had fallen down on her and Ann. In an effort to keep something to focus that wasn't her fear, had pointed her gun to the seawater, as if fearing that some underwater creature would lunge out at her boat. In a strange turn of events, Eric and Neves had followed her lead, and so had those who had firearms on the other rowboat.

And in a way, such a behavior had its logic. After all, there could be sharks or any type of unknown sea creatures under the waves, ready to gulp down anyone unfortunate enough to fall overboard. Maybe some of them would even be daring enough to try to tip the rowboats over. But if that happened, Kendra knew one thing: she was going to make herself a bitter meal to be swallowed!

The thought of ending up as a meal of some unknown sea creature was about as scary as everything else she had ever seen upon her arrival to this island. Not because of the fear of being killed by an animal per se. Kendra had experienced such a thing before, on more than one occasion. Once, a gigantic lion had attacked her, and when Kendra had shot it between the eyes, the beast fell on top of her. Another time, a Marsh Crocodile had lunged out at her, and she had jumped back on time only for the reptile to rip open the front of her shirt. There had even been a time when she had fallen overboard when a Great White Shark happened to be swimming in the area. That time, she had felt like a worm on a hook as she was pulled out of the sea.

In the end, Kendra had her fair share of close encounters with wild animals.

But here, whatever creature would eat her would be unknown. And the unknown was mankind's biggest fear.

Thankfully, if there were any unknown monsters under the waves, none of them either bothered or dared to attack the rowboats, and both of the small vessels got back to the _Venture_ without a pinch mark more than they had before leaving the ship. The other rowboat, where Hayes had gone, had arrived first, and it had fully ascended already by the time hers got there.

Quite to everyone's surprise, Dollar was the first person to jump off the rowboat and scramble across the _Venture_'s deck, doing so even before the boat had gotten high enough to be considered safe to jump out of it.

"Geez." Lumpy said, after regaining his balance from barely managing to dodge Dollar. "Who burned his butt?"

Not being in the proper state of mind to care about whatever could be going on inside the millionaire's head, Kendra helped Eric survey the passage of her rowboat's occupiers onto the ship's deck. Most of them made it on their own, but there were a few who needed some prompting. Denham had to be hauled out by Preston and Baxter, and Ann was carried by Chester Brown. Neves was struggling with passing a large, limp figure over the rowboat's side onto Steve Bennett's arms.

Kendra felt her heart sinking. She recognized the limp figure as Jack Driscoll. She hadn't had the chance to check on him, but she imagined he had been one of those who had the misfortune of meeting their end at the hands of those natives. She didn't know exactly which had been the poor playwright's demise, but she knew it couldn't have been a pleasant one.

But if that was the case, what was he doing here? Eric had ordered the crew to leave the dead!

Close by, and still inside the rowboat, Eric said something that stated he was thinking the same.

"What the hell are you doing, Neves?" Eric shouted. "Don't pass Driscoll onto the ship, just throw him into the sea!"

Neves froze, almost actually letting go of his load.

"_O quê_?" he said, after managing to regain his hold on the writer's legs, as Bennett held Jack by his armpits. "What?" he repeated, realizing he had spoken in his mother language.

"You heard me!" Eric snapped. "Just let him go. You shouldn't have even brought him in the first place."

"But sir…" Neves stammered, as Bennett managed to pull Jack onto the ship.

"I gave everyone direct orders to leave the dead." Eric snapped.

Comprehension dawning on the Portuguese sailor's features, Neves said, "Mr. Driscoll ain't dead, sir!"

Those words made everything clear for Kendra. Neves had brought the writer because he had checked he was alive. And if he looked limp, that could be because he was unconscious – which was still a whole lot different from being dead.

By her side, Eric nodded in understanding. He lowered his eyes, which Kendra took as the closest thing to an apology he would ever give to Neves.

But there was a person for who Neves's words made all the difference.

"Jack!" Ann shouted, snapping out from her torpor, and rushing to kneel at his side.

Even before her knees touched the ground, Ann's hand had already flown to Jack's heart, searching for the telltale beats that would confirm Neves' words. In only a second, Ann's face had exchanged its blank look for a wide smile of relief, and although there seemed to be tears falling from her eyes, Kendra was sure they were from relief.

"Oh, Jack…."

"Don't worry, Miss Darrow." Neves said. "Mr. Driscoll took quite a hit, but from what I can tell, he'll wake up in a matter of hours, without no further harm than a hell of a bump."

"I'll be the one officially stating that." Lumpy said, obviously unhappy that Neves had been sticking his nose where it didn't belong. "I'm the ship's doctor, after all."

Turning to Carnahan and Comollo, Lumpy ordered, "Take him to the galley, so I can examine him better."

"Wait." Brown said. "Steve and I will do it. You probably have more things to do, with getting the ship ready for leaving on time and such."

Unlike Lumpy, neither Carnahan nor Comollo seemed upset by the freelance offer. Brown lifted Jack by under his arms, while Bennett held him by the ankles, and the two of them carried Jack into the galley. Ann Darrow followed them like a shadow.

At long last, Kendra stepped out of the lifeboat, right after Eric.

"Mrs. Englehorn." a voice called, even before she set both her feet on the floor.

Searching for the voice's origin, Kendra looked around and saw Jimmy running towards her. He looked smashingly relieved to see her, as if he'd imagined that some horrible thing had happened to her, like being eaten by the monster he had heard but not seen. But Kendra couldn't help to think it was a little bit of an exaggeration for him to still be entertaining that thought. Jimmy had seen Hayes, and should have assumed by now that Kendra would also be alright. But he was still a kid, as much as he liked to affirm otherwise. It was understandable that he would think that way. In fact, it seemed like he was using all of his self-control not to jump into her arms and burst into tears of relief.

"Are you alright?" Fear was evident in every syllable he pronounced.

"No worse for wear" she said, caressing his cheek as motherly as she could and kissing his forehead. "Don't worry."

"We left the dead, Jimmy." Eric added from her side in a brisk tone. His tone as he spoke to Jimmy was surprisingly reassuring – more than it had been in a long time during the four years Eric had known the boy.

Eric laid a hand on Kendra's shoulder to get her attention.

"I'm going to make sure everything on the ship is alright before we leave." he said. "Will you give me a hand, or do you want to go to rest?"

"Why are you checking the ship?" Kendra asked. "Did you notice anything wrong that I didn't?"

"I don't want to take any chances." Eric replied.

"I'm going to help you." Kendra said.

"I can ask Hayes to do it instead." Eric said.

"Do it if you want to, but I said that I'm going to help you." Kendra said, her tone uncharacteristically snappy.

Eric looked her in the eyes for a moment more, apparently to look for any sign of hesitation. Finding none, he nodded, and the two left, to make sure everything would be alright with the ship by the time high tide finally arrived.

* * *

Sitting by the side of two tables shoved together, Ann Darrow caressed Jack Driscoll's forehead over and over again. Ann had cleaned his wound, but had not bandaged it, as she hadn't been able to find any piece of fabric she trusted enough to use as a bandage. She had also made him as comfortable as she could, fetching a pillow and blanket from her own cabin.

Steve and Chester sat at another of the tables watching Ann tend to Jack and bolting down Coca-Cola as though doing so would erase the day's events.

They had repeatedly told Ann that Jack was unconscious, and he that he wouldn't feel anything. Ann stubbornly kept asserting that although Jack was out cold, he seemed relieved now that he was safely back on the ship.

And he was alive.

He was alive.

When she had first heard Englehorn telling Neves to leave the dead, the open wound in her heart had throbbed harder. It was bad enough to think that Jack had died, but to leave him in that hellish place had been unthinkable. But when she heard Neves say that Jack wasn't dead, relief swept through her like a crashing wave.

He was alive. Her Jack was alive. The two of them could go back to New York together, as soon as Englehorn got the ship moving. They could…

Do what? Even if Jack had asked her to be his assistant, they hadn't really thought too much about what they would do next. Jack's workmates were bound to be sore at the fact that someone Jack hadn't seen for sixteen years would get such a high position. Jack's family could not enjoy Ann having become so close to him, even considering she had been his friend when they were younger. And there was no way of knowing what Uncle Leonard would think of that.

Uncle Leonard. The thought of how she had treated him made Ann want to crawl in a hole and hide.

She had treated him like the enemy. She had blamed him for everything that had happened on that island. She had made it very clear that she hated him.

But he wasn't the enemy. Deep down, he was just an old man who probably thought his time on this Earth was running short, and wanted to have his life's dream come true while he was still alive. Her uncle was not like Dollar, who was a just a heartless bastard, and if Ann was being truthful, Uncle Leonard had never been the leader of the doomed expedition. Dollar and Denham had been the ones leading everything, and her uncle had simply been too sidetracked with reaching his own goal to not follow them. It didn't excuse everything – but it excused many things.

Ann had to apologize to him, but at the moment, she felt too ashamed of her behavior toward her uncle to have the bravery do so.

A low moan cut through her thoughts.

"Jack?" she whispered, her voice vibrating with hope.

Jack didn't answer her immediately. His eyelids stirred, and ever so slowly, his green eyes opened. He looked confused and in pain.

"Ann?" he whispered.

"I'm here. Everything's alright now." Ann answered.

_For some, that is._

Jack shifted and tried to sit up, but Ann took her hand to Jack's chest and pushed him down as gently as she could. Chester and Steve tossed their empty bottles in the trash and made some loud excuses about how they wanted to get some dry clothes on.

"What happened?" Jack moaned. "Where am I?"

"We are back on the ship. Englehorn and Kendra came just in time to save us – well, most of us." she corrected herself.

Jack covered his face with one of his hands. "I remember about Mike, but…"

"One of Dollar's bodyguards – Philip." Ann said. "And Mr. Aldous. They didn't make it."

Jack spread his fingers apart and peered out at Ann. "They didn't hurt you did they?"

"They didn't, thanks to you. I'm alright. We'll be getting off this island on the next high tide, and then everything will be alright again."

Jack opened his mouth to reply, but his answer was drowned out by the voice of another person.

"Well, I'm deeply sorry to say this, but we will have to get out of here a little bit later than we initially expected."

Looking behind her, Ann saw Kendra right behind her, water dripping off her captain's cap and streaming down her leather trench coat. There was a trail of wet footprints behind her.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Kendra shrugged her shoulders as though apologizing for the unexpected event, and said, "Eric and I decided to double-check the _Venture_'s engine, and it was a good thing we did."

A bell of alarm ringing in her head, Ann gave Kendra her full attention.

Reading the silent question on Ann's face, Kendra carried on, "There were some unexpected malfunctions with the engine, that and Baddun said that the coal shovel went missing, and we still haven't gotten a spare one after it broke earlier on this trip. We can't get steam without a coal shovel."

Apprehension started building up inside her. Unexpected malfunctions to the engine weren't good. Just how serious were they? And how had they appeared there in the first place?

And the coal shovel disappearing – it couldn't be a coincidence. Those two things had to be connected.

Sensing Ann's alarm, Kendra raised a hand in reassurance and added, "Don't worry, it's nothing serious. It's only serious enough so that we won't be able to leave on the next high tide, but on the one after that only. And the coal shovel will be easy enough to find. I just thought I should come here tell you that, so that you don't get surprised for us taking longer than expected to get off the island."

Then, without bothering to say any more words, or to ask about Jack's state, Kendra rushed back out of the galley, her dark braid bouncing behind her.

"Well, it could be worse." Jack said, trying his best to give Ann a reassuring grin.

It could. The engine could be having some malfunction that would actually force them to stay here for days. The coal supply could have turned out to be shorter than expected, which would mean they would end up stuck in the ocean. Or… Jack could be actually dead, instead of just a big bump to his head. The thought was enough to make her shudder in horror.

Jack put his hand on Ann's arm. "I think you should go back to your cabin and get some rest."

Ann's eyes immediately widened. Jack was asking her to get some rest? Asking her to get away from him? How could he think she would do that? He needed her here.

"I would feel better that way." Jack insisted, as if he was reading her thoughts. "You went through a lot out there, you need to rest."

"You went through more." Ann said. "You could have died."

"And you could have…" Jack started, but then, a wave of pain seemed to go through his head, forcing Jack to stop speaking in order to focus on it.

Ann held her breath while he did so.

"I insist." he said, when he managed to regain enough coherence to speak. "Go back to your cabin, get some dry clothes on, and then get some rest."

"I can't leave you here on a table..." Ann began.

"For me." Jack begged.

That was the last blow to the wall of resistance Ann had built up. Apparently, men could also be rather stubborn when it came to something they wanted. Or her man, at least.

"Alright then." she finally said. "I'll get some rest, and you try to do the same."

Ann leaned forward and kissed him.

"Good night, Ann." Jack whispered.

Even before she was out of the galley, Jack had fallen back into his state of unconsciousness.

* * *

Sitting on his bunk inside his cabin, Dollar rubbed his hands with satisfaction. Stage one of his plan – getting the English broad to scream one more time as a way to motivate those savages to sacrifice her to whatever unknown creature existed beyond that wall – had worked perfectly.

And stage two was working fine so far. It had been a simple matter to do some tampering with the ship's engines, and then hiding the coal shovel. Now, they were stuck on this place for some more time. Hopefully, it would be long enough for those natives to come on board and take her.

When that happened, a rescue party would be organized – and by then, Dollar would go along and explore the island, try to figure out as much about Jack Sparrow's treasure as he possibly could.

It was a rather long shot, but Dollar had already made a promise in his mind: one way or the other, he wasn't going to leave this place without a treasure, no matter what the price of that was.

* * *

_Well, this is it. I'm sorry if it seemed like they were going away soon. Turns out they aren't. I know that in Peter Jackson's version they stay for longer because of the ship's damage... however, I chose to limit the ship's damage to its engine, because I don't think that a tramp steamer turned into a sieve would have been able of bringing a lot of cargo back._

_I hope you enjoyed the chapter._

_Please let me know whether you did through your reviews._


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